Two Sides to the Story
by Amber Greene
Summary: There are at least two sides to every story. How would Ron and Hermione look at the events that brought them together? Do they really look at things so differently from each other? Or do they understand each other more than they think they do?
1. Chapter 1 Hermione Thinks

**TWO SIDES TO THE STORY**

**DISCLAIMER:** The Characters, Places, and all other Things that you know for a fact belong to J.K. Rowling really do belong to her. Only the crazy dialogue, situations and behavior that are so obviously OOC belong to me. 

**A/N:** Ron and Hermione's inner ramblings are in single quotes (' '), while their spoken words are enclosed in quotation marks (" "). 

**CHAPTER ONE - HERMIONE THINKS**

Hermione Granger walked down the corridor past the Charms classroom, tears blurring her sight. 'Why did I do that?' she thought. She knew it wasn't safe to patrol the corridors of the school alone at night. But how can she expect her partner to be there with her when she had just enclosed him in a full-body bubble charm that no seventh year can break? 'It's all his fault,' she screamed inside her head. Suddenly, she ground to a halt. What had their argument been about? 'Argh,' she thought, 'I can't even remember what we were screaming about just ten minutes ago. Stupid, _stupid_ Ron! I can't take this anymore! I CANNOT be in love with him! I just can't be!' She was starting to feel better when another part of her brain screamed, 'Oh, why do I keep on denying it? I AM in love with him! I can't help it, I can't change it and I can't stop it. Can't he see I'm going out of my mind because of him? Well, of course not, he's stupid, isn't he?' 

She sighed. Ronald Weasley can take apart an opposing Quidditch team's strategy within two minutes into a game, anticipate even Dumbledore's next ten moves on the chessboard depending on the opening gambit, yet he couldn't see that she was hopelessly in love with him. Which was just as well, she reminded herself. What if he made fun of her for being mad about him? But then again, how could she not be mad about him? He was... Ron. That was all he needed to be for her to feel as though a cage full of Cornish pixies lived inside her whenever he was near. 

'He's a prat,' she spat. A great, stupid, _bloody_ prat! So what if he's now Quidditch captain and Head Boy, just as he saw himself in the Mirror of Erised in his first year? So what if he's gotten over his fear of spiders by battling a horde of Acromantula that attacked Hogwarts last term? So what if he's now so good at Transfiguration that he was able to give her the most beautiful present she ever got for her eighteenth birthday? She sighed again and glanced down at the bracelet she was wearing. It was made of the wildflowers growing behind the Quidditch field. Ron had plaited the stems together and transfigured the entire thing so it would become hard and cool to the touch like metal, yet retaining the color and shape of the original blossoms. It clasped on her wrist on its own, and unclasped if she tugged at it and said "bloody hell." At the time, she laughed at it, thinking how ingenious it was for him to get her to swear whenever she wanted to take off the bracelet. So she got around that by not taking it off at all. Which, she now realized, was precisely what he had wanted in the first place. 'He's so sweet, how did he know I loved wildflowers? OH, STOP IT! I have to keep thinking he's a prat and I should just... I should... I... I adore him,' she sighed for the third time in as many minutes. 

She tried to think about his many faults. He was arrogant, to start off. But then again, maybe he had a right to be a little proud of himself. After all, he had done what he set out to do: outshine all his brothers. In his fifth year, he tried out for, and got, the position of Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. That wasn't so spectacular; she knew he could do it. What was spectacular was, he became team captain after playing one game. He was a scarlet and gold daredevil on his mother's old Silver Arrow. He painstakingly rebuilt and re-charmed the old broomstick during the summer before their fifth year, according to his sister Ginny. Now it was his most prized possession. It had saved his life, both on and off the Quidditch field. And because he was such a good player, he now had a fan club, like his best friend, Harry Potter, did. What was so irritating was, his fan club consisted for the most part of shrieking females who never missed the chance to goggle at him while he walked down the corridors on his way to class. 'Stupid girls,' she thought, 'always asking him to go to Hogsmeade with them, always following him around, asking him to dance with them _WHILE HE WAS STILL DANCING WITH ME_ last Valentine's Day ball!' But he DID turn them down nicely all the time, clearly embarrassed that he had to do so. He always wanted to be where she and Harry were, to watch out for them, as he said. 

And then, he'd been made Prefect, along with her and Harry in their fifth year. Part of the changes made at Hogwarts due to Voldemort's return was the appointment of three Prefects from the fifth, sixth and seventh years to help the staff maintain order and safety in school. Ron took his Prefect duties seriously. He volunteered to look after the first years, acting as their big brother and helping them with schoolwork. They all hero-worshipped him and worked hard to win his approval. He was happy to be admired. But knowing he was expected to be a role model made him more careful about how he acted, at least in public. When it was just the three of them, he promptly went back to being a prat. And when he'd been named Head Boy before the start of their seventh year, he actually went to Dumbledore to tell him it was a mistake, that Harry would do a much better job. The Headmaster assured him that he deserved the position, especially since he was given another special award for services to the school for fighting off the Acromantula attack. 'Okay, so maybe he isn't as arrogant as I thought he would be. In fact, I really can't say that he's arrogant at all,' she admitted to herself. 

Hermione continued her patrol of the corridor, and then went up one of the staircases to inspect another row of classrooms. 'A-HA, he swears too much and he's too hot-tempered!' She rejoiced at finally being able to come up with something irritating about Ron. His temper had almost lost him his Prefect badge in their sixth year, when he practically ground Draco Malfoy's jaw into powder for calling her a mudblood once too often. Dumbledore himself took it in hand to punish Ron, making him serve detention the entire year, and deducting one hundred points from Gryffindor. But he always told her she was worth it, which made her blush every time. Whatever his detention was, it involved so much hard work that he was nearly asleep on his feet by sunset. However, he wouldn't tell her or Harry what it was at first, since Dumbledore had sworn him to secrecy. It turned out that he had been given advanced lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and was repeatedly subjected to the Cruciatus and Imperius curses until he could resist them. He had to constantly put a glamour charm on himself so they wouldn't see the bruises on his body. She remembered crying for hours when she found out how badly he had been hurt. Later, she and Harry had to undergo the same kind of training, although not as severe as Ron's, to help defend Hogwarts against Voldemort's attacks. 'Okay, so maybe he learned his lesson after all,' she conceded. 

She stopped walking. She thought she heard a noise. She hardly dared to breathe so she could listen carefully. But there was no one there, not even a ghost. She started to move again. 'He's too overprotective of Ginny and me, especially when _I_ don't need protection,' her brain pounced on another reason to hate Ron. He scared away every boy who had ever shown the faintest interest in her. Even poor Neville Longbottom rubbed Ron the wrong way whenever he asked Hermione for help with their Potions homework almost everyday. But she didn't think Ron ever threatened Neville; they just had a talk one night in the common room during their fifth year, and afterwards Neville rarely went to her for help on his homework again. Neither boy gave her any details of their talk. Ron just said that they understood each other, and asked her to drop the matter. She didn't, of course; she threatened to hex him a few times, and actually DID hex him once while they argued about it, but he never said a word, until she gave up. 'He doesn't want any boy going near me, except himself and Harry, but he doesn't want me either!' She was so frustrated. Was he being thickheaded on purpose? Or could it be that he only saw her as a friend? After all, he was just as protective with his sister Ginny; only, he let up on his sister sometimes, while he never let up on her. 

She took a left turn down another corridor, and promptly froze. Ron was lying on the floor. He wasn't moving or breathing, his skin was paler than parchment, and he was covered in blood. Scream after scream escaped her throat while she ran towards him. As she knelt beside him and reached out to touch him, cold sweat started pouring down her face and back. It was as though a hundred Dementors were surrounding her. She fell to the floor sobbing and shivering for what seemed like an eternity. She closed her eyes; her body started to twitch, and she felt her stomach and legs go numb. 

Suddenly, she heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. She opened her eyes, but was too weak to turn and look at whoever was coming. 

"Riddikulus!" a familiar voice roared behind her. Ron's body in front of her exploded into puffs of heavy gray smoke, then vanished. 

"Hermione! Are you awake?" The warm voice was driving all the cold away. 

She looked up, and relief washed over her. "Oh, RON, I thought you were..." 

Ron knelt down and pulled her into a tight hug. "'S all right, 'Mione. The boggart's gone now." 

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you, I should've listened..." she sobbed into his robes. 

"Shh, it's okay, no harm done. At least you've learned your lesson now, haven't you?" She saw his deep blue eyes sparkling mischievously. 

"WHAT?! How dare you, after what you said to me?" She had to pretend to sound indignant, but she knew he could tell it was just an act. She felt stupidly happy at that moment. Part of her was screaming, 'Ron's HUGGING me! RON's hugging me! Ron's hugging ME!' She was convinced her brain had just turned into goo. 

"I dare _you_ to tell me what we argued about in the common room tonight." His tone was openly playful now, and he was still holding her in his arms. 

"I... You... you said... I was..." That's it, her brain really HAD turned into goo. 

"Well?" He grinned, and for one split second, she forgot her name. 

"Shut up and let me think! It was..." 'So this is how being Confunded feels like,' she sighed. 

"Aw, give it up. You can't remember, can you? Honestly, I can't remember, either." He flashed her a smile that was brighter than moonlight, and once again Cornish pixies came to life inside her. 

He slowly let go of her, and she had to clamp her jaws together to stop herself from crying again. But it was too late. A tear had fallen onto her cheek. She watched him watch the tear slide down. Just then Ron cradled her face in his large hands and carefully wiped away her tears, making her feel warm, then cold, then hot. "Come on, let's get you to the hospital wing." His voice was so soft and strangely comforting. 

She managed to give him a weak smile. "N-no, I'm fine. I just want to go to my room." 

"Are you sure? You're trembling all over. Maybe you need some--" 

"I'm fine, really. Could you just take me to my room? Please?" She really did try not to sound too desperate. 

"All right. Can you stand?" Ron asked as he helped her to her feet. She started to nod, when she felt her knees buckling under her. He caught her up, tucking one arm under her knees and steadying her upper body with the other. She looped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She gave up trying to pretend she wasn't affected by his nearness. Instead, she reveled in the feeling of being in his arms. 'How did he learn to fly without a broom?' She felt like she was soaring through the air as he carried her all the way back to her room. 


	2. Chapter 2 Ron Rants

**CHAPTER TWO - RON RANTS**

Ron Weasley could feel his ears turning magenta. She was accusing him of being jealous. All he said was, "Heard from Vicky lately?" Four little words, that was all it took for them to begin barking at each other in the Gryffindor common room. But this time, it felt different somehow. It seemed as though it would be the argument that would finally end their friendship. No matter how viciously they fought, they had an unspoken agreement to patrol the corridors together. But tonight, as he tried to follow her for their nightly inspection, she pointed her wand at him and told him to, well, he couldn't remember the exact words, but in effect, she wanted him to sod off. 

"Don't be stupid, Hermione! You know you're not supposed to go walking around alone--" 

"Oh, so now I'm stupid? On top of every insult you hurled at me tonight, I'm stupid too?!" 

"I didn't mean it like that! I'm just saying you shouldn't be alone--" 

"I can take care of myself, thanks. Why don't you just go sit with your _fan club_? I'm sure they'll tell you how tall and handsome and perfect you are!" 

"Look who's being jealous now! Stop acting like an idiot and let me--" 

"WHAT?! I'm an IDIOT?! Why you--" 

Before he could draw breath, she screamed a spell at him, and his entire body was suddenly enclosed in a bubble filled with the smell of a newly-exploded dungbomb. He coughed and spluttered. He tried moving, but the bubble held him in place as effectively as a full-body bind. He tried _Finite Incantatem_ to break the spell, but it wouldn't budge. 

"HERMIONE! Let me out!" 

"If I'm such a stupid idiot, then you must be a ruddy genius. I'm sure you'll find your way out in no time. Goodnight," she said acidly. 

"Hermione!! Come back here, you... you..." 

'Goddess, she's a goddess,' he thought. 'Shut up, you,' he ordered his brain. 'This is not the time to adore her. I've got to get out of here! This stinks!' 

But he couldn't prevent his thoughts from flying back to the bushy-haired witch who made his life wilder than a cart ride to a Gringotts vault. How could he be deliriously happy with her one minute, furious with her the next? For eight years he tried to find the answer to that question. Only one thing came to mind, and he repeatedly rejected it. He couldn't be in love with her, he just couldn't. It would mean their friendship was a lie. That was unacceptable. He needed her friendship just to be able to breathe. He needed _her_. He wanted her to stay near him, to smile at him, to scold him whenever he swore, to constantly remind him to study or do his homework or chew his food first before swallowing. 

'I'd rather have her hex me than be kissed by another girl,' he grunted. 'WHAT?! HAVE YOU GONE MAD?' he roared inside his head. No, it can't be happening, his brain did not split into two and begin arguing with him. He didn't, he couldn't, he shouldn't... 'I love her,' he finally admitted to himself. He'd lost the battle with his own head. Right, he had finally gone barking mad. 

When did she become the most beautiful witch in Hogwarts in his eyes? She must have been beautiful right from the start, but he was just too daft to see it. She was so full of outrageous ideas that actually made sense once he thought about it. For instance, her crusade for the protection of elfish rights finally took off during their fifth year. She was finally able to convince even him that no creature, magical or otherwise, should have to be born into servitude. She argued that if the elves truly wanted to serve, they should at least have the choice of whom to serve, and be compensated for their services. She helped Winky recover her dignity and her sense of belonging to one family by suggesting that she serve the Weasleys. Dumbledore had agreed with her, Winky visited the Burrow and decided to stay, and his mum had been so delighted with Hermione that she gave her five Weasley jumpers for Christmas, one for every year since they started at Hogwarts. Winky became a trusted member of the Weasley family since then, and she was the only one who could keep Fred and George in line, much to the amusement of the world in general. 

She was full of contradictions. She hated Quidditch because he and Harry took no thought for their safety when they played. Yet, she was the one who suggested that awards be given for the most valuable player, similar to what Muggles do for basketball, whatever that was. All team members and heads of Houses voted for the player who showed exceptional ability on the field and made the biggest contribution to his or her team. He always voted for Harry and always assumed his best friend would get the award, so it always surprised him whenever he won instead. But she had always believed he deserved it, so he tried to believe for her sake. She was so proud of him for winning the award two years in a row. She confidently told him a dozen times that he would win it again this year, even though Snape and the Slytherins always voted against him. 

She loved school; she always wanted to study, to do more than anybody had ever done before, to be the youngest Head Girl to come out of Hogwarts. Yet she was one of the staunchest supporters of Dumbledore's decision to close the school temporarily to strengthen its wards and other defenses should Voldemort decide to attack. That meant being one year behind in their studies. But then, it had to be done so Hogwarts could remain a safe haven. Since they were Prefects, they stayed on and helped with whatever they could. She and Harry took the advanced Dark Arts lessons he'd taken earlier in the year. He remembered feeling that his jaw had dropped to the floor when she asked him for help with a particularly difficult lesson in blocking curses. He also remembered the argument they'd had because of it. 

_"Just because you think I'm a know-it-all doesn't mean I'm not willing to ask for help when I know I need it," she had said in a maddeningly superior tone._

_"If you expect me to help you, don't give me _**that**_ look!" he had countered._

_"What look?"_

_"That 'I'm going to suffer martyrdom under Ron' look."_

_"I don't have that look!"_

_"Yes, you do!"_

_"No, I don't!"_

_"Yes, you do!"_

_"Are you going to help me or not?!"_

_"Well..."_

_"RON!"_

_"All right, all right, I'll help you! I was just teasing."_

_"Well, stop teasing! This is very important. This could very well save our lives, not to mention--"_

_"I already said I'd help you! Don't lecture me."_

_"I'm not lecturing, I'm only pointing out--"_

_"Yeah, yeah, can we just get on with it?"_

_"Well, if that's your attitude--"_

_"Wait just one minute! You're starting to sound like you regret asking me for help."_

_"I never said that! Maybe _**you**_ don't really want to teach me, and you're trying to make me angry so I'll change my mind about asking for your help."_

_"Maybe _**you're**_ saying you won't learn anything important from me. How can stupid old Ron teach Hermione the super-brain anything, huh?"_

_"ALL RIGHT, THAT DOES IT!"_ She pulled out her wand and started to hex him, but he perfectly demonstrated the blocking technique she was having trouble with. That probably made her feel _her_ jaw had dropped to the floor. 

'She's always been too smart for her own good,' he chuckled. 'It's so adorable how she won't admit defeat even when it's staring her in the face.' The other part of his brain kicked in. 'STOP THAT! Focus on getting out of here, you git! You can adore her later.' 'Right,' he groaned, knowing that he really HAD gone barking mad. 

"REDUCTO!" he bellowed, and the bubble burst. 'Blimey, it worked!' 'Of course it did, I'm a ruddy genius! She said so herself.' 'Pat yourself on the back later! Find her NOW!' He shook his head, hoping it would make the voices inside his brain go away. He dashed out of the portrait hole and ran the length of an entire corridor within seconds. He then ran through the Charms corridor and stopped at the foot of the stairs, debating whether to go up or down. Usually it was Hermione who wrote up the duty roster for the nightly inspections. For the life of him, Ron couldn't remember where he was supposed to go next. He stopped thinking and tried reaching out to her in his mind. After a few moments, he bolted up the stairs, entirely sure he had made the right choice. 

He let his instincts guide him through the winding corridors. He tried to walk as softly as he could so he could listen for her footsteps. She was always so graceful, so light. Even when she carried a dozen schoolbooks on her back, she never walked, she glided, she danced from class to class. Whenever he carried her books for her, he had the feeling she would start to float to the ceiling, as if books were the only things anchoring her to earth. Meanwhile, _he_ lumbered around like a three-legged Hippogriff with rheumatism. 

He had just rounded a corner when he heard her screaming. He ran as fast as he could towards the sound of her voice. At the end of the hallway, he saw her lying on the floor beside what looked to be -- it looked just like him! But as he came nearer, the body on the floor started to change. It was still his face, but the hair was turning brown and bushy. It was turning itself into his deepest fear, that Hermione would get hurt, or worse... he couldn't bear to think about it. 'Hang on, that's... that's a BOGGART!' He pulled out his wand. 

"RIDDIKULUS!" he roared as loud as he could. The boggart exploded into thick gray smoke, then vanished. 

"Hermione! A-are you awake?" 'Please say something, anything! You have to be okay, please be okay,' he prayed. 

She looked up at him. When she recognized him, he saw a look in her eyes that almost made his heart stop. It was as though he had found her after she had been lost in the Forbidden Forest for a year. "Oh, RON, I thought you were..." 

Ron fell to his knees beside her, knowing that if he didn't touch her right then, he would explode. So he pulled her into a tight hug. "'S all right, 'Mione. The boggart's gone now." It sounded so stupid, but those were the first words that fell from his mouth. 'Thanks a lot, brain, shutting down when you're needed.' But it seemed to work. 

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done that to you, I should've listened..." she sobbed into his robes. Although he wanted her to be in his arms, it was unacceptable that she was crying. He had to lighten her mood somehow. 

"Shh, it's okay, no harm done. At least you've learned your lesson now, haven't you?" He gave her a mischievous look and hoped she would get it. She did. 

"WHAT?! How dare you, after what you said to me?" There, she was pretending to sound like she was mad, that's a good start. Time for a bit of teasing. 

"I dare _you_ to tell me what we argued about in the common room." He tried to make his tone as playful as possible. But he couldn't let go of her, not just yet, even if she hexed him again. 

"I... You... you said... I was..." She was speechless. 'Blimey, there IS a first time for everything!' 

"Well?" A little grin was in order here. 

"Shut up and let me think! It was..." Her voice trailed off. She had no idea how cute she looked when she was confused. 

"Aw, give it up. You can't remember, can you? Honestly, I can't remember, either." He smiled at her. But the tears he tried so hard to get rid of were still there, falling from her eyes. He knew he would regret letting her go, but he had to get rid of those damn tears. Slowly, he cradled her face in his hands and wiped away all traces of sadness from her. He was shocked at how soft her skin was. 

"Come on, let's get you to the hospital wing." He could only manage a whisper, as it really wouldn't do for him to suddenly croak like a frog. 

"N-no, I'm fine. I just want to go to my room." 'Damn! She had to smile! Now my knees are so weak I won't be able to stand,' he almost groaned aloud. 

"Are you sure? You're trembling all over. Maybe you need some--" 'What does she need?' 'Who cares what she needs, _I_ want to kiss her!' 'Shut up!' 'No, you shut up!' 'WILL YOU BE QUIET? She's saying something!' 

"I'm fine, really. Could you just take me to my room? Please?" As if he could ever resist the plea in her voice. 

"All right. Can you stand?" 'Please, please be a little weak so I can have an excuse to help you get to your room,' Ron prayed. Her knees started to buckle under her. 'YES!' He caught her up, tucking one arm under her knees and steadying her upper body with the other. She looped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. 

His insides were all jumbled up by now; he tried to ignore the somersaults his heart was doing inside his stomach. But, by Godric Gryffindor! He was going to help her get to her room if it was the last thing he ever did! And somehow, he managed to carry her all the way. 


	3. Chapter 3 She Screams

**CHAPTER THREE - SHE SCREAMS**

They reached the door of the her room. It really wasn't supposed to be her room, she reflected. Her room should have been the first door down the hall, not the last. When Ron finally accepted the position of Head Boy, he arranged with Dumbledore that his room should be the first door down, then the Prefect's Rooms should come next, while the Head Girl's room should be the last. The arrangement was a strategy in the event the school would be invaded. He reckoned that as Head Boy, he should be the first line of defense of Gryffindor Tower. The Prefects would back him up, and the Head Girl should be able to escape and regroup if the need arose. 

He set her down gently. Her brain was protesting madly, so she leaned on him to keep contact with his body. He was so solid, so warm against her side, she could fall asleep standing up as long as he was there. She felt him pull out his wand from his pocket. 

"Alohomora," he said. The door clicked, but didn't open. "What's the password?" he asked. 

"Bubotuber pus," she answered. The door swung open. 

He put one hand on the small of her back to guide her inside. A bolt of electricity shot from his hand and sent little shockwaves along her spine. 'Breathe, Hermione, breathe,' she reminded herself. Just then, she felt his hand leaving her back. 'NO! Why did he -- oh!!' He was taking off his outer robes and school jumper. He must have felt hot from the exertion of carrying her four flights up. He unbuttoned his collar and unknotted his tie, letting it hang from the back of his neck. When he started to roll his sleeves up, she really did try not to drool. 

Once they were inside, the door swung shut and automatically locked behind them. Seconds later, the walls started to shimmer as a Silencing spell automatically wrapped around the room. She had set the spell herself so she could have absolute silence when studying. It was also very handy for when she went into one of her weeping bouts over Ron and didn't want anyone to hear her screaming and throwing things. But now that they were alone in her room, she felt uncomfortably warm. She saw a frown on his face that meant he disapproved of her somehow. What was he thinking about? Did he think she'd had boys up in her room before? 'Because I never have. Well, except for Neville, but that was strictly for homework. Oh, and for counseling, but I always made sure there was a table between me and whoever I was talking to,' she babbled as if he could hear her. 

Suddenly, she remembered him asking for the same spell for his room. 'Did he have girls up in _his_ room? I bet he did! His fan club never did leave him alone. I bet some of them pretended to need counseling just so they could be alone with him, then they probably jumped him and forced themselves on him. Hell, I bet all he had to do was ask some blonde tart to check out his room and they'd be inside for hours!' She was fuming now. She calmed herself down before smoke started pouring out her ears. 

The silence was becoming painful, but she couldn't think of anything to say. 'I really should say something. He looks like he's going to fidget himself to death. Thank you sounds nice. But I DON'T want to say it. I'm angry. Oh, but look at him! Well, I suppose I should get it over with.' She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he beat her to it. 

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked in the same soft voice that made her weak in the hallway earlier. Her anger faded. 

"I think I'll be fine. Thank you, Ron," she answered. There was a heavy pause. She looked down at her shoes and studied them as though Snape would quiz her on them in the morning. 

"You're welcome." He started to turn away. 

'Don't go, Ron! Do something! Make him stay!' her brain screamed. "S-so... so... How's... Pig doing?" she blurted out. 'Oh, that's smooth! He'll really want to stay _now_.' He turned back to face her. There was an unreadable expression on his face. 'Wait, look! He's not leaving! Is he -- coming closer?' 

He stepped up to her. "Your robes are filthy," he whispered. Her breath caught in her throat as he reached out and unclasped her robes. He shook the dirt off them, then walked over to the laundry basket beside her dresser and chucked them in. He slung his robes and jumper on the back of one of the chairs in the room. 

"I'm sorry about our fight earlier," he said, as he stepped back towards her. Her body was starting to tremble again. 

"You don't have to apologize. It was my fault, too," she said, unconsciously backing towards the bed. Oh, dear gods, her collar and tie were strangling her, and her jumper was making her sweat. 

"Why do we fight all the time?" His voice got lower as his body got closer to hers. She felt as though she had been Stupefied. She'd never had to think so hard and so fast for an answer to a question before. 

"It's what we do. We've been doing it since first year, so I suppose we enjoy it." Her voice was a mere whisper now. 

"_Do_ we enjoy it? Do you really think I enjoy being angry with you half the time? Do you think it makes me happy that I make you cry? Half the school sees you bursting into tears after our fights, so don't try to deny it." 

'Oh no, he knows! What do I do?' "I... I... don't cry about it all the time." 

"Of course you don't. Other times you threaten to hex me. When you're really mad you skip the threats and just curse me." 

Suddenly she realized something. "But... but you KNOW how to block almost any curse! So why do you let me hex you?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

His ears turned red, as if he was caught doing something embarrassing. "I reckon I deserve it. For making you cry, you see." 

She gasped. How could he be so... so... Ron? She fell in love with him all over again. "Oh, Ron, I hate it when we fight, but I just can't help it. Can you understand? Because I can't." 

"Maybe I do." He stepped closer. 

"Can you explain it to me, then?" She nearly fainted when she felt the warm zephyr of his breath on her forehead. 

"No, but I think I can show you." He took her in his arms and brushed his lips against hers. 

White-hot light coursed through her body. She moved her lips in time with his. She really was going to faint now. But she couldn't, because if she did, she'd have to stop kissing him. His lips left hers to kiss her right cheek, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her left cheek and her chin. Then he sealed his mouth over hers again, kissing her deeper and deeper. Their tongues were sliding against each other. 'Where did he learn to kiss like this?' she wondered. 

That one question suddenly made her feel as though a bucket of ice had been dumped on her head. She ended the kiss as tears began to fill her eyes. She knew exactly who taught him to kiss that way. She knew she was being unreasonable, but she was jealous; jealous of girls that have already left school. It wasn't that they'd fancied him. In fact, two of them were Fred and George's girlfriends. She desperately wanted to be the one who gave Ron his first kiss, but they beat her to it. 

They. Them. Whatever. Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet had grabbed him and kissed him when they won their first Quidditch game back in his fifth year. They'd been ecstatic that their new Keeper had, well, kept well. Fred and George had looked on with a mixture of mirth and horror on their faces before pulling Angelina and Katie away. Then they threatened Alicia they'd tell Oliver Wood exactly what she did when he wasn't looking. The three girls laughed at the twins, and soon all the Gryffindors were laughing. Except her. She remembered Harry had stopped laughing long enough to give her a sympathetic look. Ron, who had been too busy blushing to the roots of his hair, had grabbed her and Ginny into a fierce hug to cover his embarrassment. But to her, the damage had been done. One of her dreams had been shattered. To add insult to injury, the three girls grabbed him and kissed him every time they won; and they won every game they played that year. The twins insinuated that _that_ was the reason ickle baby Ronniekins had been so, er, inspired. 

"'Mione, look, I'm sorry I offended you. But I'm not sorry I kissed you. I've been wanting to kiss you for a very long time." She didn't look at him. 

"You're not going to make me feel guilty for this," he growled. She still didn't look at him. She was too busy trying to stop her tears from falling. 

He must have read her mind. "Hang on, is this about Angelina, Katie and Alicia? Bloody hell, 'Mione, can't you let it go?!" She didn't answer him. There was nothing to say; he knew her too well. 

"All right, that's IT!" The next thing she knew, her lips were being crushed against his. Her mouth was being coaxed open and ravaged. All her defenses were crumbling. Her body was melting into his. Then, she found herself kissing him back, giving him as much as he gave her. She was clinging to him desperately, fighting to keep upright, to meet his attack and revel in it. 

She felt him draw out his wand from his pocket. There was a swoosh, and suddenly she was completely naked. All her clothes had been banished. She froze in shock. He seemed terribly pleased. 

He drew back a little to look at her body. "God, Hermione, you're magnificent!" His voice was hoarse with want. She moved to put a hand over his eyes, so he wouldn't see her. But as she looked up, she saw desire darkening his eyes. It was enough to make moisture pool deep inside her. She was consumed with a desire to see the wonderful muscles on his arms, his chest, his thighs. She wanted to know the feeling of holding his hardness in her hands. 

With a groan she tried to unbutton his shirt. Her trembling fingers would not cooperate. She tried ripping his shirt open, but there was no strength in her hands. He gave a little laugh and brushed her fingers aside. He turned his wand on himself and banished his clothes. 

It was her turn to look at his body. She tried to keep her voice even as she spoke. "Hmm, you look just a bit better than someone I've seen before. Of course, he was a bit younger than you are now." 

His whole face turned crimson. "You -- you've seen another man naked before?! Who -- who -- was it KRUM?!" He looked ready to explode. 

She giggled at his reaction. He was so easy to tease sometimes. "I've seen _you_ almost naked once, remember? In your boxers and bruises all over. Does that count?" 

His eyes lit up in remembrance. "Oh, you... you... scarlet woman! Come here!" He picked her up and threw her onto the bed, then lowered himself onto her. He muttered something she couldn't understand before he tossed his wand away. 

The feel of their naked bodies touching made her gasp for breath. His mouth and tongue carefully laved every inch of her: her earlobes, the crook of her neck, her breasts, her navel. 'This is heaven!' She thought nothing could ever excite her more. She was wrong. When he latched his mouth onto her delicate crevice, she screamed at the unbearable pleasure of it. "OH MY GOD! RON!!" Her body writhed and arched into him. She climaxed, screaming his name over and over. Still, he didn't stop the delicious torture of his tongue. When she fell over the edge a second time, she knew she had to feel him inside her. 

"Ron, please..." She tugged weakly at his hair. 

He trailed kisses up her body as he moved. She watched him poise himself at her opening and slip inside her. She cried out softly as she felt a twinge that seemed to stretch her heart. The feeling quickly gave way to pleasure as he started to rock gently. Soon, she needed more. 

"Ron -- faster -- please --" He complied. One of his hands slid between their joined bodies to caress her in time with his thrusts. She started to scream his name again as she flew over the edge. He shuddered violently and emptied himself inside her. 

He collapsed on top of her. She threw her arms around him and lay back onto the pillows. She traced her fingernails across his back in random patterns. After a few moments, he rolled off her and rolled her onto him. In turn, he traced his fingernails across her back. She shivered with delight. 

She was being slowly hypnotized by his fingers dancing on her skin. She lay peacefully on top of him until he said, "I want to taste you again." He rolled over until she was under him once more. 

"But, you shouldn't -- I mean, we just -- isn't it going to be --" Her voice trailed off as his tongue teased her sensitive core. It only took a few moments before she reached her peak again. She spread her legs for him so he could fill her with his hardness until she was breathless with satisfaction. 

After a minor eternity, her breathing became even again. When she opened her eyes, she found he was hovering above her, an elbow propped on each side of her to support his weight. "You taste better than any dessert I've ever had." 

That was it. He didn't know he had released something wild that had been asleep within her, and now she needed to satisfy its endless hunger. "Is that so? Then you won't mind if I had a taste of you, too," she retorted. 

She flipped him onto his back and straddled his thighs. She looked at that part of him that was so different from hers. It stiffened before her eyes as she brushed her fingers over it. She glanced at him; he was gasping for breath. She trailed her fingers over and under his length. 'He's... big, isn't he?' she mused. He moaned. She grinned. 

She bent down and grazed the tip of his arousal with her tongue. His whole body quivered. 'He can dish it out, but he can't take it. This is going to be _so_ much fun,' she thought. 

"Scarlet woman," he growled. 

"I haven't even started yet, Keeper boy," she crooned. She laughed as his eyes glazed over. 

She took his tip into her mouth and let her tongue slide over and around it several times. Then she slowly licked his entire length, making him moan continuously. 

"Stop -- stop -- I need to be inside you -- please, 'Mione --" 

His words lit a fire in her belly that had to be quenched. She shut off her brain and let her instincts guide her. She lowered herself onto his hardness and started to rock. One of his hands flew to her hips to help her find her rhythm; the other stroked her intimately. She started to bounce frantically. After a minute or two, she came with a violent shudder. He rolled her onto her back and pounded into her until the whole world exploded. 

His weight on top of her was so comforting. She could feel his heart beating fit to burst through his hard chest and into hers. She smiled, knowing that she was responsible for the chaos inside him. She was about to fall asleep when her deepest secret gushed out. 

"I love you, Ron." 

Somewhere in her dreams she felt the warmth of his voice and the promise of his love wrap around her, giving her a home she knew would always be waiting for her. His face was all she saw, and his voice was the only thing she heard, all night long. 

When she woke up, he was gone. 


	4. Chapter 4 He Dreams

**CHAPTER FOUR - HE DREAMS**

He considered it a feat just short of Voldemort's destruction that they were standing before her door. Those were four very long, very steep, trick-step laden staircases he had to climb to get her here! He had to put her down and rest for a bit. He really had to steady his breathing so he wouldn't turn blue, because blue skin and red hair definitely did not mix. It didn't help when she decided to lean on him. 'Damn! This woman's going to kill me,' he panted. 'But what a way to go!' the other part of his brain sniggered. 

He may as well be a gentleman and open her door. 'And tuck her into bed.' 'Stop that!' 'All right, all right! Testy...' 'Shut up!' He wondered if he would be allowed to go to one of those Muggle doctors that Hermione once told him sorted out people's mental problems. A psycho-whatsis. But then again, maybe what he really needed was a spell to fuse his brain together again. 

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at her door. "Alohomora," he said. He heard the door click. "What's the password?" "Bubotuber pus." That brought back memories of Rita Skeeter and the _Witch Weekly_ article. 'D'you think she'd hex me if I called her a scarlet woman?' 'How badly do you want purple boils on your face, stupid? The Quidditch final's tomorrow, in case you've forgotten.' 'Oh yeah, right.' 

It suddenly occurred to him that they were just standing outside the door. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something, so he put his hand on the small of her back and guided her inside. How he wished he could keep his hand there all night. But he knew he had to remove it, or else she'd cut it off for him. 'Okay, so now she's in her room. Now what?' 'Dunno, she'll probably say goodnight and that'll be my cue to leave.' 'Good idea, but could you loosen up a bit? It's so hot, I'm dying here.' 

He pulled off his school robes and jumper without noticing what he was doing, but he felt better for it. He continued trying to get comfortable, not realizing that Hermione could be watching him. His collar and tie were now loose, his sleeves were rolled up and he was holding his discarded clothes in his hands before he remembered he was not in his own room. 'Uh-oh, she's going to kill me.' 'No, she won't, maybe she'll be drawn by your animal magnetism.' 'Yeah, right, and Snape will give me a Niffler for Christmas.' 

He was distracted by the sound of the door swinging shut and locking behind them. He knew the Silencing spell would kick in any moment. He saw the familiar shimmering of the walls that told him he was correct. He frowned. 'Did she ever have boys up here?' 'Of course she did, she'd probably counseled quite a few of them.' 'What do you mean, counseled? As in counseled, or...' 'Don't go there, you'll have a heart attack if you do.' The thought of her with another boy made him want to go on a killing spree using his bare hands. The silence was getting uncomfortable. He started to fidget. 

He glanced at her and saw that she also had a frown on her face, as if he had done something that would make Dumbledore throw him out of Hogwarts. 'Hang on, does she think I've gotten girls up to my room and... and _shagged_ them?' 'Well... it felt sooo real to me.' 'Sod off, you know those were just...' 'Fantasies, I know, you idiot.' 'Great, I'm teasing myself. I AM officially insane.' 'You should be by now, fantasizing about one girl for years. She's standing right in front of you, you git! What are you waiting for?' 'What are you on about?' 'I have to shout it out, don't I? DO SOMETHING TO MAKE HER YOURS!!' 

Er... "Are you going to be all right?" 

"I think I'll be fine. Thank you, Ron," she answered. Her voice was so soft, so sad. She was looking down at the floor. She didn't want to talk. He sighed quietly. 

"You're welcome." He just knew he'd lost his last chance. There was nothing left for him to do but to turn away. 

"S-so... so... How's... Pig doing?" she blurted out. 

His thoughts rioted. 'Did she just say something...' 'STUPID?!' 'I know, can you believe it?' 'Now's your chance, go on, GO ON!' 'To do what?' 'ANYTHING!!' 

He steeled his nerves and stepped up to her. "Your robes are filthy," he whispered. He reached out and unclasped her robes. He shook the dirt off them, then walked over to the laundry basket beside her dresser and chucked them in. He slung his robes and jumper on the back of one of the chairs in the room. 

"I'm sorry about our fight earlier," he said, as he stepped back towards her. 

"You don't have to apologize. It was my fault, too," she said. 

The voices inside his head grew louder. 'She's moving towards her BED! She's trembling!!' 'I know, don't shout!' 'C'mon, just take her and shag her and be done with it!' 'I can't do that, I'm in love with her.' 'Then let her know, and get her to admit she loves you too.' 'But what if she doesn't love me?' 'Then make her love you, you fool!' 

"Why do we fight all the time?" He could tell he'd said the right thing by the way her eyes went slightly out of focus. 

"It's what we do. We've been doing it since first year, so I suppose we enjoy it," she whispered. 'That CAN'T be right!' 'Then let her know it isn't.' 

He grasped his courage with both hands and let her have it. "_Do_ we enjoy it? Do you really think I enjoy being angry with you half the time? Do you think it makes me happy that I make you cry? Half the school sees you bursting into tears after our fights, so don't try to deny it." 

"I... I... don't cry about it all the time." 'Poor kid, she's in denial _so_ much deeper than you are.' 'Shut up! I'm on a roll here.' 

"Of course you don't. Other times you threaten to hex me. When you're really mad you skip the threats and just curse me." 

"But... but you KNOW how to block almost any curse! So why do you let me hex you?" 'Uh-oh. Naughty, naughty, you got caughty.' 'Will you STOP?!' 'I will if you come clean.' 

His ears turned red. He felt as though he was six years old again. "I reckon I deserve it. For making you cry, you see." He crossed his fingers behind his back, praying she would understand what he meant: that he had to let her hurt him sometimes in a clumsy attempt to make up for the times he made her cry. 

He knew by the way she gasped that she understood. Her eyes softened. His heart made several back flips and threw in a somersault for good measure. He had a chance. She might even fall in love with him tonight. "Oh, Ron, I hate it when we fight, but I just can't help it. Can you understand? Because I can't." 

His blood roared in his ears. She _had_ fallen in love with him tonight. "Maybe I do." He stepped closer. 

"Can you explain it to me, then?" She was now so close to him that he was breathing on her forehead. He suddenly felt the strength he never knew he had. The strength to love her completely. 

"No, but I think I can show you." He took her in his arms and brushed his lips against hers. 

He felt that if he died that very moment, he would die a happy, happy man. He almost did die when she moved her lips in time with his. This went beyond love -- he worshipped this woman, and he didn't even have the words to tell her. He reckoned he would have to show her. His lips left hers to kiss her right cheek, the tip of her nose, her forehead, her left cheek and her chin. He desperately hoped it would be enough to let her know how he felt about her. But he knew it wouldn't be. He sealed his mouth over hers again, kissing her deeper and deeper. Their tongues were sliding against each other. 'So this is what heaven feels like,' he thought. 

He must have done something wrong, something rude, because she suddenly drew away. He stared at her stupidly. She looked as though she was trying not to break down and cry. 

"'Mione, look, I'm sorry I offended you. But I'm not sorry I kissed you. I've been wanting to kiss you for a very long time." She didn't look at him. 'What's going on? I thought she wanted me to kiss her. She WAS kissing me just a second ago.' 'It must be something else.' 'What?' 'How should _I_ know? I'm not a bloody girl! Why don't YOU find out?' 'Don't lose it, count to ten, stay calm... One... Two... Oh, BLOODY HELL!' 

"You're not going to make me feel guilty for this," he growled. She still didn't look at him. She was still trying to stop her tears from falling. 'It IS something else! But what?! Think, think! Oh, HELL, NO! It can't be...' 'It has to be, she's just as stubborn as you are about letting certain things go.' 

"Hang on, is this about Angelina, Katie and Alicia? Bloody hell, 'Mione, can't you let it go?!" She still didn't answer him or look at him. 

So it WAS about them, or _Them_, according to her. He remembered the way she screeched at him about letting _Them_ kiss him after every game when he knew _They_ were somebody else's girlfriends. No amount of reasoning on his part would convince her that it wasn't his fault. The way she put it, everything had to be his fault. She went on and on about it until she grew hoarse. Then it finally hit him. He treated her exactly the same way when it came to every boy who'd fancied her, or whom he'd suspected had fancied her. Viktor Krum. Terry Boot from Ravenclaw. Justin Finch-Fletchley from Hufflepuff. Terence Higgs from Slytherin, another slimy git who was YEARS older than her. And Neville... He had never been so ashamed in his entire life. He didn't really threaten Neville, just... well, er, said some things, no, not really said, more like ranted, the gist being that Hermione Granger belonged only to him, Ronald Weasley, and no one in his right mind would dare interfere. 

He really did try to let it go. He thought he had gotten over his jealousy when they began their seventh year. But it may have had more to do with the fact that ever since he had been named Head Boy, every male student in Hogwarts, except for Harry and the first years, had been too terrified to even look at Hermione. She, on the other hand, was as stubborn as ever, maintaining that he had _no right_ to be angry with her the way she'd been angry with him. Now, was that fair? Absolutely not! To hear her go on about _Them_ and his so-called fan club, anyone who overheard would have thought he was just a sodding bastard whose only concern was to shag every girl who would let him. Now he was boiling mad. 

"All right, that's IT!" He crushed her lips against his. He opened her mouth with his and ravaged her with his tongue until he could feel her body melting into his. He wanted to break her, to make her whimper and beg for him. But she wasn't the most brilliant witch to come out of Hogwarts for nothing. He suddenly realized she was kissing him back, giving him as much as she got. She was clinging to him desperately, fighting to keep upright, meeting his attack and, oh God, even reveling in it. He was going to make a bloody fool of himself if he didn't do something. 

He drew out his wand from his pocket and muttered a spell under his breath. There was a swoosh, and suddenly she was completely naked. He'd done it! Banished all her clothes. Perfect! Ronald Weasley - 1, Hermione Granger - 0. 

He drew back a little to look at her body. Never in his most erotic fantasies had he ever imagined her looking like _this_! "God, Hermione, you're magnificent!" Uh-oh. The score was tied at 1 all. She was moving her hand up -- to do what? Cover his eyes? He almost started laughing until she looked at him, no, practically _leered_ at him. The desire he saw in her eyes was enough to stiffen his, er, resolve. She groaned and tried to unbutton his shirt. Her fingers were trembling so badly she couldn't hold on to anything. She tried ripping his shirt open, but her hands weren't strong enough. He had to laugh just a little before brushing her fingers aside. He turned his wand on himself and banished his clothes. 

She stood back a little and looked him over. His heart dropped to the floor when she spoke. "Hmm, you look just a bit better than someone I've seen before. Of course, he was a bit younger than you are now." 

His whole face turned crimson. 'WHAT THE HELL IS SHE ON ABOUT?! DID SHE -- DID SHE--' His brain was burning. He couldn't breathe. "You -- you've seen another man naked before?! Who -- who -- was it KRUM?!" That's it, he was going to explode NOW. Three, two,... 

She giggled at his reaction. He wanted to strangle her. "I've seen _you_ almost naked once, remember? In your boxers and bruises all over. Does that count?" Oh, right. Ronald Weasley - 1, Hermione Granger - 10,000. 

His eyes lit up in remembrance. His punishment for hitting Malfoy during their sixth year was to practice resisting two of the Unforgivable Curses. It was pure torture. He was hurled against the floor, bounced off the walls, even thrown out of an open second-floor window. At first he had been sworn to secrecy until Dumbledore decided Hermione and Harry had to practice as well. She'd demanded to see how badly he'd been hurt. Not in Voldemort's wildest dreams of world conquest would he do that! But she dragged him by his extremely sore arm to her room and commanded him to strip down to his bruises. She wouldn't let him out until he gave in. So they stayed in her room and fought for two hours. When he finally gave in to her, as he always did, and showed her exactly how his skin color resembled that of a plum, she cried as though her dearest friend had died. He was surprised to learn that she could wail exactly like a banshee. He fell asleep holding her in his arms as she soaked his bare shoulder with her tears. It was a wonder he didn't die of exposure, as he was wearing only his boxers at the time. He was amazed that her body was warm enough for both of them. But then again, she amazed him by her ability to do almost anything. Now, it was time for him to amaze her, to conquer her, heart and soul. 

"Oh, you... you... scarlet woman! Come here!" He picked her up and threw her onto the bed, then lowered himself onto her. He muttered a contraception spell that his brothers Bill and Charlie had taught him last year, then tossed his wand away. Those two idiots were almost as bad as the twins when it came to, well, _that_. He had to suffer through their "You're eighteen, you're a man now" speech. At the time, he thought it ridiculous, as he was sure he would never make love to anyone except Hermione. He thought he would go to his grave, er, well, ahem, inexperienced, as he had already turned nineteen two months ago and he still hadn't gotten around to using the spell. Lucky he didn't forget. Hell, luck had nothing to do with it, as his brothers reminded him of it every chance they got. He made a mental note to thank Bill and Charlie later. 

She's so soft, he thought. How could his hands and his mouth just glide over her skin like that? And her breasts... fitting into his fingers just so. And that little... valley... between them, so perfect for his lips to kiss. Oh, wow. And this was just her _skin_, for Merlin's sake! How would it feel like if it was her... He soon found out. Licking her there like that was electrifying. It haunted him, the way she screamed, "OH MY GOD! RON!!" It drove him to go at her harder and harder until she tugged at his hair. It was only then that he remembered his own desperate need. 

As he was easing himself into her, he heard her cry out softly. 'Oh, God, I've HURT her!' 'Relax, it'll go away, just keep on doing what you're doing and she'll be fine. There, see? She likes it!' 'How do YOU know?' 'The Book, stupid! The Greatest Masterpiece of All Time!' 'Yeah, right. Masterpiece... a book called _The Beginner's Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long_?!' 'Well, you DID find out all you needed to know, didn't you?' 'Shut up, can't you hear her saying...' 

"Ron -- faster -- please --" 

'Show her FASTER, you idiot!' 'WILL YOU BE QUIET? I'm going as fast as I... Oh, God, what was that?' 'She's getting there! She's getting there! She's... THERE! I'm the BEST! Ha, ha! Fred and George didn't have what it takes to last this--' 'I don't want to think about those twin horndogs, I want to listen to her... SCREAMING MY NAME! OH, GOD, I'M... I'M... OH, GOD, HERMIONE!!' He shuddered violently. He felt as if everything inside him was spilling into her. 

The next few hours flew by like they were blended into one single moment. All he could remember was the overwhelming pleasure of making love to her. The way she screamed his name over and over soaked into his marrow. He would never be able to forget. He had awakened her passion. He felt it in the way she flung him down, caressed him, and then made love to him. He thought that, like him, she was at a loss for words to say exactly what this night meant to her. He was wrong. 

He remembered collapsing on top of her again when it happened. Somewhere between catching his breath and marveling at the softness of her shoulder, four little words hit him with the force of a lightning bolt. 

"I love you, Ron." 

His head shot up. He raised himself to his elbows so he could look at her. She was already asleep. The words were still echoing in his mind. His eyes started to blur. He didn't know what was happening until he put a hand up to his face and felt his tears flowing down. He lay down beside her and put his arms around her, pulling her gently so that her head rested on his shoulder. He wasn't sure if he had disturbed her, so he spoke to her softly. 

"'Mione? Are you asleep? God, did you just say it... or did I need to hear it so much that I dreamed you said it? Hermione, I... I love you, you know. You don't realize what you just did to me tonight. You bound me to you. I won't be able to let you go now. You're just going to have to put up with me as long as I'm alive. I'll have to hang on and hang around you whether you want me or not. I'll have to do all sorts of crazy things just to prove to you I love you, and you'll laugh at me, but I won't mind. I'll just... just be beside you whenever you need someone to tell you the truth. You know, that you're a goddess, that you're perfect, that kind of stuff. I look at you, and all I can think about is you and me sitting in our rockers in our backyard, laughing about how our grandkids have grown, and wasn't it just yesterday when you and me and Harry drank that awful polyjuice potion because there was a basilisk loose at Hogwarts... I'm bound to you, and I don't mind. It feels so good to belong to someone like you. I'm yours now... I always was. Oh sure, roll your eyes at me... I love your eyes... they tell me how warm and kind you really are, even when all the world sees you only as a bookworm." 

He was drifting off to sleep. "Please dream of me... You don't have to be in my dreams, you know, you're already in my blood," were his last words that night. 


	5. Chapter 5 She Runs

**CHAPTER FIVE - SHE RUNS**

Hermione was wrapped up in something warm and solid and alive that was the source of all the love in the world. She was starting to wake up but the warm something was still holding her and she fell asleep once more. She started dreaming again, and this time the dream was more vivid than all her previous dreams of Ron making mad, passionate love to her that her body started to ache. The dream felt so real that she ignored the sensation of some sort of minor earthquake beside her. But she was beginning to hear sounds that made her dream a little less real. 

She heard a muffled thump! sound on one side of the bed, followed by two smaller bumping sounds. 'Rats,' she thought. Only, rats didn't swear, did they? 'Oh, who cares about rats, I'm dreaming about Ron and something he's doing with eclairs to my -- oh, my!' 

Those sounds again! The dream was fading. 'No, no, come back, Ron... Oh, my, I'll have to ask Dobby to bring me some eclairs tonight so I can...' Hell, there goes that thumping sound again, like someone bunny-hopping across the floor. She really didn't want to open her eyes yet. She just might fall asleep again. She sank back across the pillows. She was getting drowsier by the second. 

Click. Was that her door opening? Can't be, no one could break the spells on her door. The only way her door would open like that was if someone had opened it from the inside. And she was the only one inside her room. 

Wait. If she was the only one inside her room, then why was she hearing... "I'll come back later, I promise. I love you." The door closed. Ron! 'Open, open!' she ordered her eyes. 'Too bright, it hurts,' was the response. 'Eyes can talk?! I'm still dreaming, that must be it. But I have to wake up. WAKE UP!' The fog in her brain started to roll away. Ron WAS here last night, and he DID make love to her. Wasn't he? Didn't he? 

When she woke up, he was gone. 

Did he leave after she fell asleep? No, his side of the bed was still warm. He must have left just before she woke up. The bathroom! Why didn't she think of it before? He might be inside her cozy, large, _private_ bathroom. She really could use a nice, long bath with Ron scrubbing her back, and maybe doing other things with his hands and his mouth and his tongue that would make her squirm and scream... 

She slowly moved to a sitting position on the bed. She felt... different. More alive, somehow. A little, er, sore, especially, well, down _there_. She looked at her body. Her breasts, particularly her nipples, looked a bit swollen. She suddenly recalled the way he had touched them and licked them and... did he bite them? No teeth marks; probably not. He DID bite her just above her collarbone, though. She would probably be bruised there. She flung the covers off her and stood up. Her legs felt a little unsteady; her center of gravity seemed to have shifted. Oh, right. That was normal, particularly for, ahem, first-timers, according to _The Beginner's Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long_. Her body would shift back to its usual, er, setting, before long. 

She frowned. Their clothes were still strewn all over the floor. His robes and jumper were still slung over the back of that chair. 'I should make him clean up this mess, I really should,' she thought. 'And then, after he's done that, I should... _punish_ him for being such a slob.' She smiled wickedly. Since when did she become this naughty? 

She walked over to the full-length mirror by one side of her dresser. She stood in front of it and looked at her reflection. "Goodness, dearie, what did you DO? And you Head Girl! Tsk, tsk," the mirror squawked. 

"Oh, shut up! How many Head Girls have shagged boys in this room before, eh?" Great. She was arguing with a mirror. 

"Tut, tut, language! And if you really want to know the answer to that question, 658 since I was brought here in the year 1081! Repeat performances with the same boy don't count, although the same girl doing it with more than one boy does!" Ewww. That was _way_ too much information. Certainly not the kind one read about in _Hogwarts, A History_. 

"Do you want to know how many Head Girls and Head Boys did it together?" Oh, Lord. The mirror was sniggering at her. 

"I need a bath," she said weakly. She was walking to the bathroom when the mirror called out, "301! And that already includes you and that yummy Weasley boy! You should have seen him hopping around earlier. Like his, er, hindquarters were on fire!" 

"What? You saw him leave?" She whirled around and stood in front of the mirror again, hands on her hips. 

"Yes, dearie. Looked like he had somewhere else to be." 

"Oh." Her face fell. 

"Don't look like that, love. I've seen too many boys act the way he did after they do it. Scares the blood out of them, you see, after they realize what they've just done." 

"I -- I thought he was different from all the other boys." Her bottom lip was trembling. 

"I think he is, dearie. He DID promise to come back later. AND he did say he loves you." 

WHAT?! "You HEARD that? I thought that was just part of my dream." Wait a minute. "What else did you hear last night and this morning?" She stared at the mirror, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

"Oh, don't worry, dearie. Usually I leave when I hear more than one person in this room." 

"Leave? Where do you go?" 

"Oh, there's a place that all mirrors go to when their owners need privacy. Usually the owners have to ask us to leave, but caring ones like _me_ know precisely when our presence would be too embarrassing. So don't worry, I didn't stay very much longer when you and that yummy Weasley boy were doing it." 

"But you.. you WATCHED us!" 

"Only for a little while, dearie. I just wanted to make sure the two of you ended up together. You're SO right for each other, you know." 

"But... how do you _know_ that?" 

"I knew when you brought him here that time to look at his bruises. He could have taken advantage of you while you were crying over him. But he didn't. That's how I also think he's different from the other boys. Maybe he really just had somewhere else to be, so he had to leave. But then again, what do I know? I'm just a mirror." 

"Oh. Well, thanks." 

"Anytime, dearie. By the way, shouldn't you be getting dressed or something? You might catch a cold, walking around naked like that." It was unnerving, the way magical objects had a life of their own. She made a mental note to buy a nice, thick drape for her mirror next Hogsmeade weekend. Two nice, thick drapes, actually; the other one was for that painting of the shepherdess dozing against a tree, hanging on the wall opposite her bed. Lord knows if she really sleeps all the time. 

She ran a warm bath in the tub and stepped in. She let the water and the soapy bubbles ease her soreness. She didn't want to cry, she really didn't, but her tears fell anyway. She knew better than to think the worst of Ron. He had always surprised her. Just when she was positively certain he was the biggest prat in the world, he turned around and did something so unexpectedly sweet and kind and uncharacteristically mature, that she fell in love with him just a little bit more. So why should this time be any different? She would just have to wait and see what he was up to. But the trouble was, she could be _so_ impatient sometimes. Like right now. She had waited for him to love her nearly half her life, certainly for the entire time she was at Hogwarts. 

Her thoughts went back to what had happened last night, and promptly started to blush. Ron was right; she _was_ a scarlet woman. The way she kissed him and groped him and licked him were, well, just -- just downright _wanton_. It was so... so... right and good and true, but only with him. She could never be like that with any other man. Ever. She couldn't even think of doing those things with, to and for, any other man. She would just have to make sure there would be many, many, _many_, er, repeat performances with Ron, hopefully starting tonight. 

Then her thoughts went over the words he said and the sounds he made. The way he was growling and moaning because of what she did to him was so... arousing. So arousing that she was starting to feel that now-familiar tingle down there. Oh, my. She really had to have that repeat performance as soon as humanly possible. She thanked all the stars and planets in the universe that she and Ron were young and strong and, well, _capable_. She couldn't imagine any old people, say like -- ewww, Snape, or -- double ewww, McGonagall, doing that. Ewww. When she was younger, she didn't understand why some people had heart attacks while they were in bed. She didn't think there would be so much strain involved in just lying down, maybe reading a book or something. Now she understood exactly how that could happen. She made another mental note, this time to check her mattress once she got out of the bath, just to make sure she and Ron didn't burn any holes in it while they made love last night. 

She sighed. The bath water was beginning to turn cold. She thought about casting a warming charm on it, but decided she wanted to go lie down again. She dried herself off and pulled on a thick, pink, fluffy bathrobe. She was going to get herself a good book, a few handkerchiefs (just in case she got weepy again), and lie down until, maybe, hopefully, Ron came back, perhaps with something to eat, anything -- ooh, eclairs would be nice. 

When she got out of the bathroom, she nearly fainted. Her desk, the top of her dresser, and three chairs were overloaded with trays of food, enough to feed an entire Quidditch team, their coach, and maybe a dozen of their closest friends. And tidying up the bed was-- 

"Dobby!! Wh--what are you doing here?! " 

"Miss Hermione Granger! Dobby is so glad Miss Hermione Granger is awake and feeling better. When Dobby saw Mister Wheezy coming out of Miss Hermione Granger's room, Dobby thought Miss Hermione Granger was sick. Mister Wheezy did not say if Miss Hermione Granger was sick, but when Mister Wheezy asked Dobby to bring Miss Hermione Granger's breakfast, Dobby thought--" 

"R-ron asked you to bring me breakfast?" 

"Indeed, yes, Miss Hermione Granger. Dobby met Mister Wheezy outside Miss Hermione Granger's door, and Mister Wheezy was in a hurry, Mister Wheezy was going to the Quidditch field for the final match, but he asked Dobby to--" 

Oh. Lord. The Quidditch final. That was why Ron was in such a hurry to leave. She had to get to the Quidditch field NOW. She lunged for her dresser and started to pull out some clothes. She never heard Dobby saying goodbye, nor did she notice him leaving the room. She had a life-altering decision to make. Should she wear her never-before-used, almost-a-year-old, mother's-present-for-her- eighteenth-birthday, too-embarrassing-to-wear-to-class, lace underwear set? Or should she not wear underwear at all, in anticipation of the, er, after-game celebration? For the space of five agonizing minutes, she hopped from foot to foot, writhing in doubt. 

At last she decided it wouldn't hurt to try the lace set on for size. When she did and went to the mirror to look at herself, the mirror was surprisingly silent. 'Wait, is this mirror growing dim? Is there something wrong with it?' She stared stupidly at it until she realized it was fogging up in the same way the little mirror in her bathroom did whenever she took a bath. She smiled wickedly again. If the mirror reacted to her lace knickers that way, Ron would probably have a heart attack. 'He better not! Well, at least not until I've had my way with him.' She suddenly remembered Ron could banish all her clothes in one fell swoosh, so it wouldn't really matter anyway. But, by Circe and Morgana and all the famous witches in history, she was going to make Ron take off every stitch of her clothing with his bare hands, even if she had to break _both his wands_! 

For the first time in her life, she regretted not having a broomstick. Though she ran down the staircases at her top speed, she still felt as though she was crawling on the ground like a slug. And, rounding corners like that made her dizzy and breathless. But then again, maybe it had more to do with the fact that she was going to have her fill of watching Ron without him noticing or laughing at her. Plus, she was starving. She really should have just grabbed a few pieces of toast to tide her over. But then again, she had several days' worth of food in her room, well, maybe a day's worth, reckoning Ron's appetite. They wouldn't have to stop doing what they wanted to do just to get something to eat. Uh-oh. She'd forgotten to ask Dobby for some eclairs. She nearly tripped by the castle entrance as she imagined Ron smearing the creamy filling of several eclairs across her body, then licking it off, then doing it over and over and over... Right. The game. She had to get to the Quidditch field. 

The stands were packed and the game was in full swing by the time she got to the field. She looked around for a place to sit. As her eyes were scanning the stands, she noticed two identical heads of flaming red hair waving frantically to her. She scrambled up as fast as she could to sit between Fred and George. The ribbing started almost at once. 

"Well, if it isn't our soon-to-be-if-she-thinks-our-baby-brother's-not-that-big-of-a-prat-sister- in-law!" 

"Tsk, tsk, you're late, young lady! Where is your team spirit? You weren't here to give our Captain a good-luck snog before the game started. Neglecting your Head Girl duties, aren't you?" 

"By the look of her, I'd say she'd given our Captain all the, ahem, good luck he could possibly need last night. That should be worth at least a year's, er, good cheer, to our ickle baby Ronniekins." 

"D'you reckon he remembered to say those magic words before he got, er, carried away? I don't think I'm ready to be an uncle yet." 

"George, I am SHOCKED at your insinuations! You know very well our ickle baby Ronniekins lives in holy terror of Molly Weasley! To forget such a basic precaution would mean his death -- his long, slow, torture-ridden death." 

"Hang on, are we talking about the same Molly Weasley who, as we speak, is knitting an entire wardrobe of jumpers, mittens and scarves for _'dear Hermione'_? The woman would welcome a Knight Bus full of kids from her baby boy and our Head Girl here." 

"Oh, right. Bugger." 

Hermione really did try to stop listening to the twins' banter, which must have continued for at least another ten minutes. She was a little less than terrified out of her mind right now. Was it that obvious what she and Ron have been up to? She was used to the twins teasing her about Ron every time they visited Hogwarts since they left school, but this was different. Nevertheless, she made another mental note (the third one this morning, she, er, noted) to do everything in her power to hide her relationship with Ron until the two of them agree on the right time to let Fred and George know. Considering that it was the twins, Hermione was all for waiting until she and Ron had had four children before telling them. Only the knowledge that she wasn't their sister-in-law (yet) restrained her from reaching out and knocking their heads together. 

She noted with relief that the twins' attention turned towards the game again when the score was announced: sixty to ten, Gryffindor in the lead. Because of the twins, she missed seeing some sort of commotion in which Gryffindor had been awarded a double penalty. She glanced anxiously at Ron. He was shaking his head, as if trying to clear it. She was worried. That kind of lead was getting much too big for the Slytherins to ignore. Malfoy would be sure to retaliate, specifically targeting Ron and Ginny, who was one of the Chasers, for revenge. 

Her thoughts and her eyes turned back to Ron. She saw the look of intense concentration on his face as he guarded the hoops. She remembered seeing that same look last night when she was on top of him, watching her impaling herself onto him. Her eyes glazed over, and she sat there with a vacant little grin on her face, when several things happened. First, she became aware of a hand waving in front of her eyes, a hand belonging to Parvati Patil, who was sitting in front of her, a knowing smirk on her face. Next, she felt elbows poking at her ribs, elbows that belonged to Fred and George, looking at her with identical knowing smirks on _their_ faces. Then, she heard the roar of the crowd, and looked up in time to see Crabbe grazing Ginny on the shoulder with his Beater's club. Finally, she saw Ron's face turn scarlet, as he signaled to Madam Hooch for a time-out. She desperately wanted to run to him, but wasn't sure if he'd welcome her intrusion. She would just have to wait when they were alone so she could just-- just-- shag him shamelessly. Oh, my. 

The game resumed. Slytherin's assault on Gryffindor began almost at once. Hermione shrieked when a Bludger narrowly missed Ron as the Slytherin Chasers, led by Blaise Zabini, attempted to score. She gasped as Ron did some sort of bone-twisting maneuver, consisting of thrusting one foot upwards to deflect the other oncoming Bludger and simultaneously reaching downwards to catch the Quaffle, which proved to be successful. For several seconds, Ron hung upside-down, holding onto his broom with one leg, fingers wrapped around the Quaffle, until Beater Seamus Finnigan helped settle him back onto his broom again. "I can't bear to watch anymore," she moaned, hiding her face in her hands. She felt her hands being pried away on each side of her face as the twins tried to make her "keep her chin up." Right. One day she _will_ become their sister-in-law, and then she would be able to hex them with a clear conscience. 

She felt more and more nervous as the Gryffindors inched closer towards their goal of accumulating a hundred-point lead before attempting to catch the Snitch. Hermione remembered one night during the previous week when Ron had discussed his strategy with her, hoping she would be able to point out any weaknesses in his plan. They had stayed in the common room late into the night, drawing up diagrams and plays. She had truly tried to understand the finer points of the game, but the fact that he was so close to her and kept on touching her hand or her arm when he was emphasizing a point was just too distracting. 

Suddenly, all the Gryffindors around her were on their feet. They were a hundred points up, and Harry had spotted the Snitch. Although everyone else was watching Harry and Malfoy flying neck-and-neck after the Snitch, Hermione's eyes remained fixed on Ron. It seemed to her that all the other Slytherins were preparing to bear down on him. She was right. She watched as Beaters Crabbe, Goyle, Seamus and Dean Thomas seemed to be playing a bizarre version of Muggle tennis with their clubs and the Bludgers. Then suddenly, Crabbe and Goyle pelted the Bludgers towards Ron at a steep angle. Dean and Seamus, not expecting such a move from the Slytherins, were unable to block the Bludgers. There was a loud crunch as Ron's broom splintered under him. He leapt for the center hoop to avoid falling to the ground with his broken broom. Hemione was mesmerized by the way he fought to stand and gain his balance within the hoop, arms and legs extended in a fair imitation of Da Vinci's _The Man_. 

She was expecting him to call for a time-out so he could get a school broom, but he was intently watching the Slytherin Chasers, who were flying towards the hoops, closely pursued by the Gryffindors. Zabini had the Quaffle and was taunting Ron, feigning indecision as to which hoop to use in attempting to score, as if Ron would still be able to intercept. Suddenly, Zabini chucked the Quaffle towards the right hoop, and Hermione watched in horror as Ron dove after it. He caught the Quaffle, but continued falling towards the ground. Hermione screamed louder than when she encountered the Boggart last night. Her voice was lost in the sounds the crowd made, a cross between triumph as Harry caught the Snitch and horror at the sight of Ron plummeting to earth. 

Hermione found herself leaping down the stands and hurtling across the field towards Ron, the twins hot on her heels. 


	6. Chapter 6 He Flies

**CHAPTER SIX - HE FLIES**

****

**A/N:** Sorry, dear readers, I haven't read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ yet, so I'm not familiar with the rules of the game. Can anyone tell me if a broomless Keeper is still allowed to keep? Anyhoo, on with the story! 

A bright light was blinding Ron behind his eyelids. He groaned. It can't be morning already, because then it would be the day of... 'THE BLOODY QUIDDITCH FINAL!' Oh no, oh no, ohnoohnoohno... 

He really did try to get out of bed without disturbing Hermione. Unfortunately, he displayed, not the skill that made him a flying daredevil on the Quidditch field, but the clumsiness of a Blast-ended Skrewt with a severe cold. He fell out of her bed, stubbed his big toe on her desk, and hit his head on a corner of her dresser while picking up his wand. Their clothes were scattered everywhere. 'She's probably going to make me come back here after the game to clean up.' 'At least you'll be in here, and who knows? Maybe she'll let you shag her again, eh?' 'Shut up! I've got to leave her a note or something.' 'You don't have time, the game's going to start in TEN BLOODY MINUTES and you're still STARKERS!' 

He started putting on his clothes any which way he could. He was probably making too much noise, swearing and hopping around, but she didn't wake up. She must really be exhausted. He grinned, feeling stupidly happy and foolishly proud of himself. He opened the door and took one last look at her before he had to dash back to his room. She really looked like a goddess with her hair fanned across the pillows, and her creamy skin illuminated by the light coming in from the window. 

"I'll come back later, I promise. I love you," he whispered before shutting the door. 

He met Dobby just outside. "Mister Wheezy! Where is Mister Wheezy been going? Dobby is searching for Mister Wheezy all over Gryffindor Tower! Harry Potter is worrying Mister Wheezy is not sleeping in his room last night. Harry Potter knocked on Mister Wheezy's door for hours! Why is Mister Wheezy coming from Miss Hermione Granger's room? Is..." 

"Look, Dobby, sorry to interrupt, but I really have to go. Quidditch final's about to start." 

"Dobby knows that, Mister Wheezy. Harry Potter was worrying so much about Mister Wheezy that Dobby went into Mister Wheezy's room to get Mister Wheezy's things. Dobby took Mister Wheezy's Quidditch robes to the locker room. Here is Mister Wheezy's broom. Mister Wheezy must fly to the Quidditch field now." 

"Thanks, Dobby. Oh, do me a favor, would you? It's for Hermione." 

"For the great Miss Hermione Granger who is helping the elves getting their pay and their days off? What can Dobby do for Miss Hermione Granger, Mister Wheezy, sir?" 

"Just bring some breakfast to her room. Bring her lots of toast, with lots of strawberry jam, she loves that. Oh, and some eggs and sausages. And pumpkin juice and some tea. Oh, and make sure there's a warming charm on the food and the tea, and a cooling charm on the pumpkin juice. Got it?" 

"Yes, Mister Wheezy. Dobby knows what to do." 

"Thanks, Dobby. I owe you a pair of socks for this, maybe even a jumper." 

"Oh, Mister Wheezy, sir! Mister Wheezy is so noble, so generous, so..." 

"Er, thanks, Dobby. I have to go. Bye!" 

He galloped down the stairs. 'Blimey, only five bloody minutes left. I'll never get there on time unless I fly NOW!' He got on his broom and zoomed down to the front doors, praying that neither Filch nor any of the professors were still inside to catch him and give him detention. He made it safely outside and to the locker room with two minutes to spare. 

The other team members were giving him queer looks as he zoomed in. Beaters Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were sniggering. 

"Oy, Captain, you look like you had a wild night!" 

"Mr. Weasley, I am SHOCKED! Wearing only a shirt, trousers and shoes! No robes, no socks, no tie..." 

"No boxers?" 

"We really don't want to find out, do we?" 

"And him Head Boy! Tsk, tsk..." 

"Maybe he's starting a new fashion trend, wearing his shirt inside out like that!" 

The whole team was laughing at him. "All right, that's enough, you gits! If you play as hard as you're laughing right now, maybe we'll even win," he growled. He had his uniform on at last, just in time for them to march down to the field. 

Under cover of the cheering spectators, Harry turned to Ron. "Where were you last night, Head Boy? Were you by any chance -- er, _visiting_ the Head Girl?" Great. His best friend was sniggering at him, too. 

"Well,... you could say that." 'He could also say you were shag--' 'Shut up! This is not the time to think about The Goddess. This is Quidditch time!' 'All right, all right. Testy, horny bugger!' 'I said SHUT UP!' 

"So how was it? Were you able to -- er, _reconcile your differences_?" Harry persisted. 

Since when did his best mate turn into a gossiping git? "Well,... you could say that, too." 'Oh, _reconcile_ is much too tame to describe what really happened last night. More like -- _enjoyed_ your differences, _fitted_ them together...' 'WILL YOU BE QUIET?' This was too much. Even part of his own brain was sniggering at him. This was really going to be a long day. 

Ginny suddenly appeared at his elbow and whispered, "I'm glad you and Hermione have finally decided to come to your senses. I'm sure you'll make a great couple." 'Damn! Does _everyone_ know what happened last night?' 'Nope, I don't think Durmstrang's on to it yet. Beauxbatons, maybe, but...' 'FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, SHUT UP!!' His thoughts were interrupted when Ginny reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "That's for luck. Not that you'll need it, Hermione probably gave you a big fat kiss on the way here. But just to let you know, you're not the biggest prat in the world, not today at least, I think." Ron couldn't help laughing. He reached out, tugged at Ginny's ponytail and stuck his tongue out at her. 

His good mood was short-lived. As the Gryffindor team approached the center of the field, the Slytherin team walked towards them from the opposite end. Draco Malfoy was Captain, and his team was the dirtiest bunch of cheaters ever to come out of Salazar's slimy-arse House. Ron could still remember the day he learned Malfoy had made Crabbe and Goyle Beaters. He had laughed fit to burst. But when Slytherin played against Hufflepuff, he couldn't laugh anymore. The two troll-like boys had managed to injure all three Chasers from the opposing team (and one of their own, not that Malfoy cared, however), and had destroyed four brooms, that of Hufflepuff's Chasers' and their Keeper's. To make things worse, Malfoy had somehow got Snape to referee that game, and so they won, 350 to zero. 

Ron was thoroughly in a bad mood by the time Madam Hooch was preparing to signal the start of the game. In order for Gryffindor to win both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup as they had done for the past two years, Gryffindor would have to win against Slytherin by at least two hundred and fifty points. Right. This is really going to be a looong day. 

He and Malfoy faced each other, neither one bothering to hide his contempt for the other. They pretended to shake hands, barely slapping each other's palms. After one last glare at Malfoy, Ron turned back to his team. "All right, remember the plan: wipe the field with their arses. Oh, and Harry, listen carefully to the score before going after the Snitch. Once we're a hundred points up, go for it, okay?" Ron mumbled his last-minute instructions. 

"Right," Harry and the other team members whispered back. 

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the players flew into position. As he took his position in front of the hoops, Ron noticed that Madam Pomfrey and a medi-wizard from St. Mungo's were sitting with Dumbledore and the heads of Houses in the staff bench. Ron groaned aloud. Apparently the entire Hogwarts staff was expecting a massacre. 

It was part of Ron's technique to watch the opposing team's Captain carefully at intervals, trying to sense their plan of action. In this case, he knew the Slytherin team relied more on muscle than on brains. In fact, he was sure that the only team members with more than two brain cells apiece were Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. This was why he watched Malfoy more carefully than he did any other team Captain. He quickly learned that Malfoy had some rotten scheme up his robes at almost every game, something clever enough to escape the referee's detection. Today would be no different. Ron was willing to bet a hundred Galleons (if he had it) that Malfoy was arranging something despicable with Crabbe and Goyle, judging by the way the three of them were whispering to each other before they flew into position. 

When the Quaffle was released, Gryffindor quickly took possession and scored the first goal of the game, courtesy of Ginny. Everyone thought he would forbid Ginny to play for the House team, as he was perceived to be an overprotective prat of a brother. Ha. Little did they know that there was a hole between his overprotectiveness and his obsession for Quidditch that Ginny had slipped through. 

Ron blocked the Slytherin Chasers' first attempt to score, and the Quaffle was intercepted by Dennis Creevey. He and his brother Colin made a good tandem, almost as good as the twins were in their anticipation of each other's actions. Dennis and Colin distracted the Slytherin Chasers by tossing the Quaffle back and forth, flying and diving furiously fast. Then, at the last second, Colin passed to Ginny, who scored again. 'Uh-oh, Malfoy's going to be furious about this.' But Malfoy was a little distracted at the moment. He didn't seem to care that his Chasers were being steamrollered; he was intently scanning the field instead. Suddenly, Ron realized that Malfoy was attempting an early capture of the Snitch to foil Gryffindor's attempts to win both Cups. Right. This means War. 

Gryffindor had just scored its fourth goal when he spotted a glint of gold ten feet above him, just off to the side of the left hoop. Malfoy had evidently seen it too; he raced towards the Snitch. Harry was positioned on the opposite side of the field, distracted by something he saw there. Even if he flew at his top speed right now, he would never be able to overtake Malfoy. To make matters worse, Zabini was hurtling towards the Gryffindor hoops, attempting to score. Ron had to act fast. It was either let Malfoy catch the Snitch or let Zabini score. He shot up in front of the Snitch. Malfoy, unable to stop his momentum, crashed into Ron. Zabini chucked the Quaffle into the center hoop and scored without opposition. Madam Hooch awarded a penalty to Slytherin. Ron saw Harry flying over to Madam Hooch and gesturing towards the other end of the field. 

"Weasley, you bastard, you'll pay for that," growled Malfoy. "In case you don't understand, I don't mean money, as you're probably going to be paying knut by knut till you're a hundred." 

'The amazing bouncing ferret, the amazing bouncing ferret,' Ron chanted to himself in an attempt to calm down. The game was too crucial to lose. He would just have to satisfy his violent need to throw Malfoy to a Manticore later. 

Just then, Ron heard Madam Hooch award a double penalty to Gryffindor. Harry flew over to him. "What's going on?" Ron asked. 

"Goyle tried to trick me by throwing something gold-colored up in the air. Colin found it; pocket-watch casing, polished up so it'll catch the light. Just the size of a Snitch, too," Harry answered. 

"Bloody hell! Isn't that enough to disqualify them?" Ron growled. 

"Apparently not. So, do we stick to the plan?" 

"Yeah." 

"Thanks for the save, Ron. I owe you one." 

"That you do, Potter. I'm still seeing stars. Who knew Malfoy was such a _solid_ little ferret?" 

Harry chuckled, clapped Ron on the back and flew off. Ron blocked Zabini's penalty shot, while Dennis and Ginny made theirs. The score was sixty to ten, Gryffindor in the lead. 

From his vantage point, Ron watched as Ginny scored another goal and was awarded a penalty shot because Crabbe grazed her shoulder with his Beater's club. Ron called a time-out, made sure Madam Pomfrey tended to Ginny, and flew around the hoops three times to control his temper. That was IT. Malfoy had to be beaten. Years of animosity between the Weasleys and the Malfoys had come down to this moment. 

The game resumed. Dennis took the penalty shot, and the score was eighty to ten. Colin snatched the Quaffle from Slytherin, and promptly made the score ninety to ten. 'Just two more goals,' Ron thought, 'then Harry can go after the Snitch and end this bloody game, and I can be with Hermione.' Unbelievable. That was the first time he'd wished for Quidditch to end soon. 'You're _so_ whipped.' 'Not now, I'm fighting for the honor of Gryffindor here.' 

Slytherin took possession of the Quaffle, and Ron steeled himself as five green streaks hurtled towards him. He ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the Bludger Goyle had pelted. Ron's eyes widened as he realized two balls were coming at him at the same time. Instinctively, his foot shot upwards to deflect the oncoming Bludger; simultaneously, he reached downwards to block the Quaffle from going through the left hoop. He felt his fingers wrap around the Quaffle and his heel kick away the Bludger, but he could also feel himself losing his seat on his broom. He clamped his other leg down tightly on the broom handle. He hung upside-down for several seconds, until Seamus pulled him right side up again. 

Due to Ron's heroics, the game quickly took a nastier, dirtier turn. It seemed as though a hail of Bludgers was being pelted on the Gryffindors. Ron was convinced Malfoy's strategy was focused on driving him insane, as Ginny was made a target second only to himself. However, he noticed that Crabbe and Goyle would pelt the Bludgers harder towards Ginny. With her smaller mass, any direct hit would probably throw her off her broom at best, or break her bones at worst. Gryffindor had to score two more goals NOW. 

A goal by Dennis and a penalty shot made by Ginny upped their lead by a hundred. Suddenly, Harry was off. He had sighted the Snitch. Malfoy followed closely. Soon, they were neck-and-neck, diving, swerving and maneuvering themselves into the best position to intercept the Snitch. All six Chasers were playing keep-away with the Quaffle, struggling for possession. All four Beaters were engaged in a furious Bludger war. This was it. 

Ron prepared himself for any attempt on the part of the Slytherins to turn the tide. However, never in a million years would he have expected that a sudden gust of wind would give Crabbe and Goyle the opportunity to aim the Bludgers towards him at an angle that was specifically meant to destroy his broom. For one split second, he felt the sturdy handle of his Silver Arrow break, before he lunged for the center hoop. He hung on by his hands and heaved himself upwards, finding a foothold within the circle. He drew himself up, extending his long limbs in every direction and rapidly regained his balance. 

He surveyed the field. Harry was a hand's breadth away from catching the Snitch, with Malfoy an arm's length too far away. The Slytherins pushed Dennis off his broom when Madam Hooch wasn't looking, pitching him into the top row of spectators on the stands. Zabini had taken possession of the Quaffle. This was no time to stop the game. If Slytherin scores a goal, Gryffindor would win the game but lose both Cups. He knew what the look on Zabini's eyes meant: _Gryffindor's finished_. OH, HELL, NO! Not while he was around! Zabini hovered in front of the central hoop with a smirk that Ron longed to slam into the sand pit just below. Zabini was taunting him, making fake lunges at the left, then the right hoop, then pointing a finger at him and laughing. The other Slytherin Chasers were preventing Colin and Ginny from flying close to Ron to provide assistance. 

Tiring of taunting Ron, Zabini lazily chucked the Quaffle towards the right hoop. Ron dove after it and caught it, and continued falling towards the ground. Time seemed to grind to a halt, as he saw Harry catching the Snitch from the corner of his eye, and Colin failing to break his fall. 

As he fell to earth, he remembered Neville's story about seeing his life flash before his eyes when he fell off his broom during their first flying lesson in first year. But in Ron's case, his mind flew to what it would be like after he died. He was sure his mum and dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, Harry and Hermione would genuinely mourn for him. But the twins, under the guise of inconsolable grief, would volunteer to take care of his tombstone and epitaph, planning all the while to put one over on him even at his own funeral. He shuddered as he envisioned the twins unveiling the tombstone at his memorial service: a ghastly _maroon_ tombstone, the epitaph engraved on it reading-- 

_RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY_

_Here lies a man from Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Who was known far and wide for being an arsehole_

He shuddered again, more at those thoughts than at the speed in which the ground was going to slam into his body. If only to prevent that horrifying vision from coming true, Ron decided he would fight to the last drop of his blood to keep from dying. 


	7. Chapter 7 Her Heart

**CHAPTER SEVEN - HER HEART**

Hermione whipped out her wand as she ran, pointed it at Ron and screamed _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ Unfortunately, either due to the jarring of her arm as she ran, or the fact that she was trembling uncontrollably, she missed her aim. Instead of making Ron float, the entire sand pit surrounding the hoops began to separate itself from the grassy field and started flying towards Ron. 

FLUMP! Ron and the sand pit met at about twenty-five feet up. The floating sand pit trembled violently, then collapsed back into place with another, bigger FLUMP! taking Ron with it. 

Hermione froze in mid-run so abruptly that Fred had to throw himself to one side to avoid crashing into her. She stared at him miserably as he was sprawled on the grass. Then she dropped her wand beside him and whimpered, "What have I done?" 

Fred picked up her wand and jumped up. "Prob'ly saved his life, you did. He could've broken his neck." 

"Right, instead he's now smothered to death! I feel SO much better," she screeched. 

Just then George tugged at her and Fred's arms. "C'mon, Pomfrey and the medi-wizard are checking up on him." They ran towards the sand pit. The Gryffindor team had already landed beside the pit and were watching Madam Pomfrey and the medi-wizard working on Ron's injuries when they arrived at the scene. 

"How is he?" panted George. 

"Broke his collarbone and half his ribs. Shoulder joint, er, out of joint. Fell on the Quaffle. Might've swallowed some sand, too," Harry answered. 

"Oh, Lord," Hermione gasped. 

"At least he didn't break his neck," Harry said in what was supposed to be a comforting tone, not noticing that Fred had been desperately shaking his head, trying to stop him from saying that. Hermione DID notice, however, and she rounded on the two of them. "Will you stop trying to make me feel better?! I could've KILLED him! I-- I've bungled a spell! A spell any ruddy first year knows! I can't be trusted in an emergency! I lost control! What kind of a witch am I?" Her entire body was quivering. 

"You're in love. You're entitled to lose control every now and then." George made the terrible mistake, as Fred and Harry had done before him, of trying to cheer her up. Which just proves that men sometimes have to have things beaten into their skulls before they get the point. 

She rounded on George. "I don't know what I find more insulting: that you seem to think being in love is a disease that would make a reasonably sane person lose control, or that a _woman_ in love is expected to make stupid mistakes and needs to be cheered up by people who can't even _imagine_ what she's thinking or feeling!" 

All three boys backed slowly away from her, hands held out in front of them in a gesture of complete and utter defeat, terrified looks on their faces. 

After one last glare at the three idiots, she walked towards the pit, where Ron was sprawled on the sand, bathed in a purple light coming from Madam Pomfrey's wand. The medi-wizard was rummaging through his medical kit, pulling out vial after vial of nasty-looking potions, muttering to himself, "infection, inflammation, check, check, rejuvenation, right, right... Ah, here you go, Madam Pomfrey. The patient can take them at the same time." He set aside three vials of muddy-brown, slime-green and bogie-gray potions and opened them. 

Pomfrey took the open vials and dumped all the contents into Ron's mouth. A tortured, terrified look appeared on Ron's face, and he was about to spit out the nasty concoctions when the matron clamped her hands over Ron's mouth and nose. He gulped, and Pomfrey removed her hands from his face. Ron turned slightly green around the edges of his face, and promptly fainted. Hermione shrieked. 

"Ah, yes, well, that can sometimes happen," the medi-wizard intoned in what he probably thought was a professional-sounding voice. Memories of how that fraud Lockhart deboned Harry's arm when he was hurt by a rogue Bludger in their second year flooded her mind. Hermione wanted to strangle the prissy quack standing over Ron. 

She rounded on the Medi-wizard. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" 

The medi-wizard looked her up and down before answering, "Not that it's any of your business, young lady, but I'm a resident at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries." 

"Oh, a resident, are you? And how long have you been a resident at St. Mungo's?" 

"One year, four months," was the proud answer. 

"WHAT?! And St. Mungo's let you come to Hogwarts to treat Quidditch injuries? Most first year residents haven't even seen a bad case of multiple hexes, let alone treat broken bones." 

"Young lady, I'll have you know St. Mungo's did not _let_ me come here. Your Headmaster _requested_ me to come here. I don't like the tone of your voice, or your questioning. It's enough for you to know that I am a professional. I have assisted in the treatment of several severe injuries," the medi-wizard huffed. 

Hermione felt as though several veins in her head had popped. She instinctively knew that the quack was probably the only person St. Mungo's could send on short notice. Right. This means War. "Oh, are you? Have you, now? Let's see, then. Can you describe for us the nature of the injuries you _helped_ treat?" 

"Well, not that you would know anything about it, but those cases are described as Level Three in the _Medi-wizard's Manual of Magical Maladies and Injuries_." 

"I _do_ know something about it, thank you very much, so don't even try to intimidate me! Do you think I fell into the lake on my way to Hogwarts? Level Three injuries, my foot! Those include facial manifestations of hexes, such as but not limited to purple boils, tentacles and rabbit's ears! Have you treated any or all three of them? What is the prescribed method of treatment, spell casting to remove the superfluous appendages, or concocting a Banishing Potion? Or can they be used in tandem? Is it acceptable to use both methods in treatment? If so, which method should be used first? Have there been any recorded cases where neither treatment has been effective? If so, has the poor patient been living with purple boils on his nose or rabbit's ears since then?" Her voice got louder and louder, eventually rivaling the pitch and timbre of a Howler. She gestured wildly with her wand hand. Her wand shot multi-colored sparks almost at the medi-wizard's face. 

"Er..." 

"Right. About the potions you just made Ron swallow. Did you make them yourself?" 

"Er, no. It's standard medical supply, however." The medi-wizard looked as though he was terrified of Hermione. 

"Did you check the quality and potency of each potion?" 

"E-er,... well..." 

"Do you even know who makes the 'standard medical supply' potions at St. Mungo's? Do they make it in hospital, or do they have a separate facility for that? Have you even seen the entire hospital yet? How many rooms in St. Mungo's have you ever seen at all?" 

The medi-wizard was probably one second away from peeing in his pants. Madam Pomfrey came to his rescue. "Miss Granger, that'll be enough," she scolded. 

"And you," Hermione turned to Madam Pomfrey, "why didn't you turn this-- this-- ickle firstie back on his arse when you had the chance? You're neglecting your duty by letting wet-behind-the-ears quacks like this take care of injured students! That should be your responsibility!" 

She didn't notice Ron had awakened from his fainting fit. "Hermione... Please don't...," he whispered hoarsely. But she was so angry she ignored him. 

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly. 

"And you," Hermione rounded on Professor McGonagall, "why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you cast a spell to break his fall? He's not just any student! He's Head Boy! And Quidditch Captain! He just won the Quidditch Cup for you! What kind of Head of House are you?" 

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly. 

"And you," Hermione turned to face the Headmaster. "Why didn't _you_ do anything? How could you let this happen? Ron could've died. We could've lost him. _I_ could've lost him. I could've lost the only man I'll ever..." She broke down. Why didn't anybody understand? She had just lived through her deepest fear. She had come so close to losing Ron. She would never be complete without him. 

She saw Ron struggling to his feet. She wanted to stop him from exerting himself, but she couldn't move. She was feeling as though a hundred Dementors were gathering around her. He walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her, and she was warm again. 

"Hermione," he whispered. "It's okay. The Boggart's gone now." She sighed into his chest and let her tears fall. Only he could understand her fears, only he could calm and comfort her like this. 

"B-but, what if..." 

"Trust me." 

"I -- I know I can. It's just that I -- I'm scared that one day you'll be gone, that you'll go after all the years we've spent together and you'll take my heart with you and I'll die..." 

The softness in his voice was only for her. "Hermione, listen to me. I love you. I promise I'll be with you as long as I'm allowed to stay in this world. _You_ are my world." She sobbed into his chest. "I'll never leave you if I can help it, and if I can't, I'll have to be dragged away kicking and punching and cursing. That good enough?" 

She nodded feebly, not thoroughly convinced yet, but desperately wanting him to continue comforting her. He held her closer, ran his hands up and down her back and kissed the top of her head. She sighed contentedly, not caring that the entire student body and the staff were looking on and listening. She closed her eyes, settled her head onto his chest, and listened to his heartbeat. 

"You know, you really should apologize to the nice medi-wizard. After all, he didn't know what we mean to each other. He's just an ignorant, impersonal professional who hops around from patient to patient all day long." There was a hint of mischief in his voice that only she could catch. 

"Hey, I resent that remark!" The medi-wizard seemed to have momentarily recovered his dignity, but it only took one withering glare from Hermione to make him cringe again. 

"Go on, now. You know it's the right thing to do." 

"No, it's not. He was mean to me, and his nasty potions made you faint!" 

"Come on, love. You know he was just trying to help me." 

"No." 

"All right, all right, we'll come back to him later. Now then, you have to apologize to Madam Pomfrey." 

"Do I have to? She knows I didn't mean it. I was distraught!" 

"Yes, you do and you know it. Now go on," he spoke as though he was patiently dealing with a wayward child. 

She turned to Madam Pomfrey without leaving Ron's embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you like that." 

Madam Pomfrey accepted Hermione's apology with her mouth held very stiffly straight, as though she was fighting an almighty urge to laugh. 

"Right," Ron said cheerfully. "Now, you have to grovel at Professor McGonagall's feet. She's our Head of House, and she deserves consideration and respect. Go on, start groveling." 

"Can't I just apologize like any other student would?" She was bargaining for time, and she knew he knew it. 

"No, you can't, no other student has ever screeched at her the way you did. Now stop stalling and start groveling." 

She steered him around so she could face McGonagall without letting go of him. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean those things I said to you. I was just so worried about Ron, and instead of blaming myself for doing a spell wrong, I took it out on you. Please forgive me. I'll accept whatever detention you give me and do it twice over to make up for everything." 

The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched as though she was suffering from a facial tick. "All right, Miss Granger, you don't have to be so melodramatic. Apology accepted. No detention for today, but I may call you to my office anytime I see fit." 

"Now then," Ron continued. "For what you said to the Headmaster, complete and utter humiliation seems to be in order. You may start now." 

Hermione turned to face Dumbledore, but rested her cheek on Ron's arm. "H-headmaster, I--" 

Dumbledore cut her off. "Apology accepted, Miss Granger." 

"Thank you, Professor," Ron answered for her. "Now then, how about--" 

"I told you I don't want to apologize to him. He deserved it, and I'm not taking it back, so there." 

Ron snorted, then turned to the medi-wizard. "Sorry, old boy, you heard what the lady said. Since she will not apologize personally, I will do it for her. Along with my apology, please accept my thanks for your assistance." 

"Well,... I suppose that's all right. After all, the lady was distraught and she meant well. Right, then, if my services are no longer needed, I have to return to St. Mungo's." 

Hermione could have sworn that the Headmaster's eyes twinkled in mischief while thanking the medi-wizard and asking Filch to accompany him to the horseless carriage waiting by the castle doors. However, she didn't have time to analyze Dumbledore right now. She wanted to hex the medi-wizard for being a pompous arse, and she wanted to hex Ron for making her look like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. 

She rounded on Ron. "What did you do that for? I didn't want to apologize, and I didn't need you to apologize for me! If you ever do that again I swear I'll--" 

"C'mon, 'Mione, I had to do it to get rid of him. I didn't think he'd leave unless you apologized, and I wanted him to leave so I could be with you." 

"Do you really expect me to believe that?!" 

"Yes, I do. Now stop screeching and drawing everyone's attention to us! I can't kiss you with the whole bloody school watching!" 

"Stop bellowing and ordering me around! The only reason people are looking at us is to see if I'll do what you tell me to." 

"And you won't?" 

"Why should I?" 

"I'm your Head Boy!" 

"Well, _I'm_ your bloody Head Girl!!" 

"Tut, tut, language, Miss Head Girl!" 

"Shut up!" 

"No, you shut up!" 

"Both of you shut up and start snogging!" Harry called out. 

"HARRY!" their voices rang across the field. 

"I was just trying to be helpful! No need to bite my head off," Harry grumbled. 

"SHUT UP!" they chorused. 

"Mister Weasley, Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly behind them. They jumped and turned around awkwardly. Hermione could feel her whole face burning. Stealing a glance at Ron, she saw his ears turn a shade of red that had no known description throughout the universe. "I believe we have the Quidditch Cup to award to Gryffindor House," Dumbledore beamed at them. "And unless I'm mistaken, Mister Weasley will have the distinction of capturing the Most Valuable Quidditch Player award for the third time in his Hogwarts career." 

The entire field erupted into cheers and applause. Ron turned to her, flashed her a brilliant smile, and kissed her in front of the Headmaster. Oh, and in front of the entire world as she knew it. But she didn't mind. In fact, she kissed him back. They ignored the whistling and the catcalling and the various shouts of "It's about time!" and "At last!" In fact, they continued kissing until Dumbledore cleared his throat right by their ears. They sprang apart. Dumbledore chuckled and motioned to Ron to take the Quidditch Cup floating in mid-air beside them. 

As Ron took the Cup, he and the other members of the Quidditch team were lifted to the shoulders of the crowd and borne across the field. Shouts of "Go, go, Gryffindor," and "From east to west, Weasley's the best," rang out all over. 

When the cheers finally died down, and Ron was safely deposited beside Hermione again, they walked back hand in hand towards the castle. As they were climbing the stairs towards Gryffindor tower, Ron staggered against her. 

"What's wrong, love? Do you feel sick or dizzy?" 

"No, not really. A little weak. Just hungry, I guess. I haven't eaten anything since last night." Right on cue, his stomach gave an almighty rumble. She really did try not to giggle hysterically. 

"I still have the food you asked Dobby to bring me up in my room. Do you want that, or maybe you'd rather eat at the victory party?" 

"Hmm, do I want to eat alone with the woman I love, or do I want to eat where there are lots of pretty girls adoring me? That's a tough choice to make." She hit him on the arm (the uninjured one, thank you very much). "All right, all right, let's go to your room, Head Girl. I am in _serious_ need of counseling. I just won the Quidditch Cup, and I'm afraid I'm feeling very arrogant today." 

"Oh, you need counseling, do you? I can do that right here, right now, in two little words: sod off." 

"Tut, tut, language, Miss Head Girl!" 

"Do you want to eat, or don't you?" 

"I want to eat all right, and maybe not just food, eh?" 

"RON!" He grinned and put his uninjured arm around her. 

Cheers and applause greeted them as they entered the common room. But no one offered any comment when they only lingered for a moment to accept a few congratulations, then went up the stairs. She made a mental note to thank Harry and Ginny later, as they probably threatened to hex anyone who as much as batted their eyelashes the wrong way. As soon as they were inside her room, Ron grabbed a plateful of food, sat down at the foot of her bed and began to eat. She started scolding him almost at once. 

"Don't eat too fast!" 

"'M 'ungry!" 

"You'll choke if you keep on eating like that!" 

"Don' mag." 

"What?" 

"I said, don't nag." 

"I do not nag!" 

"Yes, you do." 

"No, I don't!" 

"Yes, you do!" 

"RON!" 

"What?!" 

"Ooh,..." 'He looks so sexy when he's irritated! Goodness, where did that thought come from?' "Just... just shut up and eat! But don't eat too fast!" 

He put down his fork. "Honestly, woman, you're going to drive me nutters!" He stood up, set aside his plate and reached for a glass of pumpkin juice. As he gulped down the juice, a drop escaped from his mouth and trickled down his neck. She watched as the liquid made its downward journey across his skin. He looked so solid and powerful and alive. And she wanted him. 

"Oh. Is that all I do, then?" She looked into his eyes and saw them turn dark and hot. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started walking towards her. "Do you want me to show you what you do to me?" He looped one arm around her waist and placed his free hand under her jaw, his palm flush with her neck, his little finger poised over her pulse point. They exchanged a look of love and longing so intense that she whimpered as he stooped to kiss her. 

She wanted every kiss to be gentle, every touch to last the entire night. At first, it seemed as though she would get her wish. Their tongues slid against each other slowly, lovingly, as if dancing a waltz. They removed each other's clothes one piece at a time, savoring the feel of exposed skin, until they stood only in their underwear. Her hands glided up his back, feeling his shoulder blades moving gently as he held her. She slid her hands down to his waist, then let them drift to the front towards his navel before beginning an upward journey to his chest. His muscles did not bulge out of his skin, which made his body look so lean and his skin deceptively smooth. But as she ran her hands over him, she felt his muscles flex and tense, revealing the hidden power that made her weak inside. 

She was dimly aware that her hands were resting lightly on his chest, her thumbs softly stroking his nipples. Then several things happened. She felt him gasp against her mouth, his nipples stiffen under her touch, his body quiver in her arms, and his arousal press against her. She didn't know any spell that could do it, but she instinctively knew it was magic that was transferring the raging fire in his veins into hers. She knew he was engulfing her in his passion, and she let him take her. She opened up her whole body for him and let his hands and his mouth and his tongue explore every curve, every corner, from her mouth to the very pit of her. Then she invited him to seek out and fill her emptiness over and over until they fell into an exhausted sleep. 

Some time later, she woke up feeling him shifting uneasily. She touched his injured shoulder and felt it was hot and throbbing. She reached for her wand on the side table by her bed, tapped his shoulder gently, and whispered, _"Ferula."_ Bandages wrapped around the injured area, and the frown on his sleeping face disappeared. She smiled at him. Little did he know the real reason why she kept on calling him "Keeper boy" was because, well, it sounded like something one read about in romance novels, but he really did have her heart in his keeping. The fact that the concept had already been abused and exploited to death in fiction didn't change the truth she felt inside her. She carefully wrapped her arms around him and went back to sleep. But that wasn't the last time she woke up during the night. 

She reached out for him in her sleep and her hand landed on empty space. But she could feel him somewhere in the room, and he was looking at her. She opened her eyes, and saw him sitting at the foot of her bed. She didn't quite remember what they said to each other, as her brain was still a little foggy, but apparently she had agreed to share a bath with him. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled across his shoulder in a fireman's hold and carried off to the bathroom. 

Her brain and body finally woke up when they got into the tub, which was about half the size of a swimming pool. He sat her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back onto his chest and reached out to touch his injured shoulder. He had taken off the bandage, but the injury was still throbbing slightly. She heard him summon her shampoo bottle and felt his hands moving in her hair. He must have strained his shoulder somehow, because he gave a slight hiss of pain. She turned around and took the shampoo from him. 

"There's sand in your hair," she said as she massaged his scalp. He smiled at her. 

"So there is." He kissed her cheek and dabbed a bit of lather on her nose. She giggled. 

Suddenly she remembered something she'd wanted to ask him all day, but she wasn't sure how she was going to go about it. 'What the hell, I've already made a spectacle of myself in front of the whole school.' "Ron?" 

"Hmm?" 

"I want to ask you... that is, I'm curious about something you, er,... I mean, when you... last night..." She couldn't go on. 

His eyes widened a bit. "What can you possibly be curious about? You've already seen and touched everything there is to see and touch about me. Hang on, have you read about something, er, new, that... you want to try out?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively. 

She shivered at his words. "Well, I -- I just want to know if... if..." She cursed herself for being so tongue-tied all of a sudden. 

"What, then?" 

"Well, when you... when I... you know, when you did that thing... where did you... I mean, how did you know... was that..." 'Please, please make him understand.' He did. 

"Oh, are you asking me if my first time was last night with you? Or are you asking me where I learnt to do all that, well, _that_?" 

"Er,... both." 

"All right, I'll tell you. I learnt everything I needed to know from..." He paused. She could have screamed at his pathetic attempt at suspense, had she not been burning with jealousy. 

"Actual experience?! Who -- who --" 'Just tell me who she is and I will make sure she suffers a long, slow, torture-ridden death.' 

He grinned evilly. "No, Miss Know-it-All, stop interrupting. I actually learnt it from a book." 

Oh. Right. "What book?!" 

"A little wizarding how-to book called _The Beginners Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..._" 

"_How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long_?!" 

"You've read that book?!" 

She felt herself blushing. "I checked it out of the library since, er, just before Christmas break. Can you believe Madam Pince actually wanted to put it in the Restricted Section?" 

"Of course I do! All those moving pictures and the sounds that go with it! Why do you think I asked you for a Silencing spell for my room?" 

"What?!" 

"The twins gave me that book last year for my birthday. I tried reading it at the Burrow, but it was so loud! And Winky wouldn't help me put a Silencing spell on my room because she said I was being naughty, wanting to read it. So when I got my own room here I've been, er, reading it ever since. Not that I thought I could actually,... practice all that stuff. But it was, well,..." 

"Er, educational?" 

"Mmm-hmm." 

"Oh. Right. It was, actually." She started splashing the water around with her fingers and studied the bubbles as if McGonagall had asked her to transfigure them into bath buns. 

"Hmm, I have a feeling there's something else you want to tell me." 

Right. She may as well come clean, er, no pun intended. "Well, there's a -- a second volume to that book. It's called _The Advanced Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..._" 

"_How to Make Them Scream and Writhe With Pleasure and Beg You to Hurt Them All Night Long_? Yeah, I've seen it around." 

"Where? Here?" 'I thought I'd hidden that damn book! Crookshanks must have been clawing at it again.' She felt her eyes were at least as large as Dobby's. 

"No. The twins gave it to me for Christmas. Hang on, you mean you've got that book from Pince, too?" 

"Well,... yeah. It never hurts to -- do a bit more research, you know." 'Oh, that's _really_ smooth. Next, he'll believe me when I say I'm the Heir of Hufflepuff!' 

There was an unreadable expression on his face. "I see. But sometimes, you have to prove that all those facts are correct, don't you?" 

"Of course! You have to test if the theory is sound and... Oh! _Oh_." She was starting to get the idea. "Ron?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Do you think we can still get some eclairs from the kitchens?" 

"Sure. But there's still a lot of food out... Oh! _Oh_. Hang on, I'll be right back." He grabbed one of her towels and wrapped it around him. He was in such a hurry, he nearly slipped on the tiles. She giggled even worse than Lavender Brown did when the Yule Ball was announced in fourth year. She slipped into her bathrobe, used a spell to shake out and freshen up the sheets, and lay down. 

He was back so fast she wondered if he asked the elves to magic him into her room again. He was carrying a huge platter loaded with eclairs. 

"Just so you know, 'Mione, I won't be able to look at desserts the same way after tonight." She really did try not to drool as he broke several eclairs in half and walked towards her. 

She trembled as he smeared the creamy filling of the eclairs all over her body, then licked it off. Then he did it over and over and over, until half the eclairs were gone and her voice was froggy from screaming his name. Well then, turnabout is fair play, isn't it? So _she_ had to break some eclairs in half and smear the creamy filling all over _his_ body and lick it off and do it again and again until _all_ the eclairs were gone and _he_ was hoarse from moaning and growling. It was dawn before they fell asleep again, more sweaty and sticky than before they took a bath together. Luckily, it was Sunday. 


	8. Chapter 8 His World

**CHAPTER EIGHT - HIS WORLD **

It must be some trick of his mind. Or maybe his eyesight had gone batty. Why else would he be seeing the sand pit coming up to meet him? He had to ask Hermione later what the Muggles call it. Opti-doodle illustration or something. 

FLUMP! Ron slammed into the floating sand pit, still holding the Quaffle and landing heavily on his left side. Only, the pit couldn't really be floating, could it? But why in hell did it feel like the whole world was trembling? He started falling down again. How could that be? His mouth dropped open in surprise just before he was jarred by a bigger FLUMP! His mouth filled with sand. Coughing and spitting it out were excruciating, as his whole left side was in agony. 

He made a mental checklist of his injuries. 'Collarbone broken?' 'Hell, yes.' 'Shoulder?' 'Popped, which, ha ha, reminds me of that time in Potions when a bogie popped out of Crabbe's nose into his cauldron-full of Rejuvenating Draught...' 'Will you STOP that?! I'm in pain here.' 'Er, right, go on.' 'Ribs?' 'Bruised, at the very least, broken at worst.' 

He tried lifting his head up. Pain shot up his spine and raged through his skull. He noticed two white blurs running towards him. 'Uh-oh, here come Pomfrey and that medi-wizard.' 'Right. Prepare to swallow something really disgusting.' 

Madam Pomfrey and the medi-wizard bent over him and started examining his injuries. He yelped while they poked him all around his left side. He heard the matron mumble a spell, and a purple light shot out of her wand. He felt his shoulder joint pop back into place and his bones start to heal. The pain was still there, but he could move again. He saw the faces of his teammates hovering above him, looking worriedly on. He smiled weakly to assure them that he was going to be fine. 

He was starting to ask about Hermione when something that tasted like petrol mixed with Flobberworm mucus was dumped into his mouth. It also had a gritty feel about it. But then again, that was probably some of the sand that he hadn't been able to spit out. He started to splutter, but Madam Pomfrey suddenly clamped her hands onto his mouth and nose. It was either turn black from suffocation or swallow the nasty stuff. He gave a big gulp that seemed to satisfy the dragon-- er, matron, as she let go of him to let him breathe again. As he gulped for air, he could feel himself turning green. The whole world spun, his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and darkness swallowed him. 

He must have blacked out for a few moments. Voices were swimming in and out of his head. Just then, he realized that it was only one voice, and it reminded him, in its pitch and timbre, of the Howler his mum had sent him when he and Harry took his dad's flying car to Hogwarts in their second year. The words of the Howler-like voice started to register in his brain. 

"... acceptable to use both methods in treatment? If so, which method should be used first? Have there been any recorded cases where neither treatment has been effective? If so, has the poor patient been living with purple boils on his nose or rabbit's ears since then?" 'What's going on?' 'Can't you hear her? The love of your life is on the warpath!' 'Ooh, this should be good. I haven't seen her this angry since... since...' 'Your last fight with her?' 'Oh, yeah, right.' 

"Er..." 'Hey, look at the medi-bloke!' 'He looks like a scared little bunny, doesn't he?' 'Yeah, isn't it funny?' 'Funny, my arse, I bet you look like that sometimes when she yells at you.' 'Shut up! I'm enjoying this. It's not everyday she gets mad at someone else besides me.' 

He was enjoying the sight of a livid Hermione barking at the medi-wizard until Madam Pomfrey stepped in. "Miss Granger, that'll be enough," she scolded. 'Uh-oh. She shouldn't have done that. What if Hermione...' 

"And you," Hermione turned to Madam Pomfrey, "why didn't you turn this-- this-- ickle firstie back on his arse when you had the chance? You're neglecting your duty by letting wet-behind-the-ears quacks like this take care of injured students! That should be your responsibility!" 'Oh, hell, no! She did not just do that! I have to stop her!' 

"Hermione... Please don't,..." his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He was going to start pleading with her again, but she was so angry she ignored him. 

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said sternly. 

He watched and listened in horror as she screamed at McGonagall. "And you, why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you cast a spell to break his fall? He's not just any student! He's Head Boy! And Quidditch Captain! He just won the Quidditch Cup for you! What kind of Head of House are you?" 'Oh, God, McGonagall's going to turn her into a pincushion, then jab her with needles all day long!' 

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly. 

He wheezed as she rounded on Dumbledore. "And you, why didn't _you_ do anything? How could you let this happen? Ron could've died. We could've lost him. _I_ could've lost him. I could've lost the only man I'll ever..." She broke down. 

Suddenly, a light switched on inside his throbbing head. Hermione was worried sick about him. Him, worthless old Ron Weasley. She was living her deepest fear right now. His thoughts went back to the Boggart they encountered last night. He had to get to her, to calm her down, to let her know everything was going to be fine. 

It was an agony trying to stand up and walk. He hung on to the thought of giving her comfort, and it gave him the strength to walk up to her and put his arms around her. He was struggling to find the right words to say, when his heart spoke up and he accepted the message. "Hermione, it's okay. The Boggart's gone now." She sighed into his chest and started to cry. He sighed with her. 

"B-but, what if..." 

"Trust me." He prayed that she wouldn't question him on this. She didn't. 

"I -- I know I can. It's just that I -- I'm scared that one day you'll be gone, that you'll go after all the years we've spent together and you'll take my heart with you and I'll die..." His heart swelled. He knew he could say it now. He could let the whole world know how he felt about this wonderful woman in his arms. 

"Hermione, listen to me. I love you. I promise I'll be with you as long as I'm allowed to stay in this world. _You_ are my world." She sobbed into his chest. "I'll never leave you if I can help it, and if I can't, I'll have to be dragged away kicking and punching and cursing. That good enough?" She nodded feebly. He held her closer, ran his hands up and down her back and kissed the top of her head. She sighed again. She was calm now. Right. Time to distract her, then. 

He relied on his best innocent-sounding-yet-filled-with-evil-intent voice for this performance. "You know, you really should apologize to the nice medi-wizard. After all, he didn't know what we mean to each other. He's just an ignorant, impersonal professional who hops around from patient to patient all day long." 

"Hey, I resent that remark!" The medi-wizard seemed to have momentarily recovered his dignity, but Hermione turned a bit from Ron's embrace to glare at him, and he cringed again. 

"Go on, now. You know it's the right thing to do." 

She was actually pouting! "No, it's not. He was mean to me, and his nasty potions made you faint!" 'Did she just act like a three-year old, or do I need to have my head examined?' 'Both, actually.' 'Stop that! I have to act like an adult here.' 'Well, at the very least like a six-year old.' 'Sod off.' 

"Come on, love. You know he was just trying to help me." 

She was still pouting. "No." 'Ha, ha, just like a child throwing a tantrum. And to think she was all, er, _woman_, last night, wasn't she?' 'Oh, shut up!' 

Seeing that she wasn't going to apologize to the, er, scared little bunny, anytime soon, he then tried to convince her to apologize to Madam Pomfrey. 

"Do I have to? She knows I didn't mean it. I was distraught!" 'Hang on, is she...' 'WHINING?!' 'I know, can you believe it?' 'We're not going to let her live this down, are we?' 'Of course not, especially when I act all grown-up, like this...' 

"Yes, you do and you know it. Now go on." 'Cor, that's _smooth_! Since when did _you_ become smooth?' 'Shut up! I'm on a roll here.' 

She turned to Madam Pomfrey without leaving his embrace. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you like that." 'Did she really say that, or do I need to have my ears checked?' She must have said it, because Madam Pomfrey was accepting her apology looking as though someone had jammed a teaspoon horizontally into her mouth, making it very stiff and straight. Ron suddenly realized that the matron was fighting an almighty urge to laugh. 

"Right," Ron said cheerfully. "Now, you have to grovel at Professor McGonagall's feet. She's our Head of House, and she deserves consideration and respect. Go on, start groveling." 

"Can't I just apologize like any other student would?" 'Is she STALLING?! The ever-eager-to-be-first Hermione, stalling for time?!' 'Hey, I just heard they're going to need jumpers and scarves in hell right now, owing to the change in climate.' 

"No, you can't, no other student has ever screeched at her the way you did. Now stop stalling and start groveling." 

Wha--? Did she just turn him around so she could face McGonagall without letting go of him? "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean those things I said to you. I was just so worried about Ron, and instead of blaming myself for doing a spell wrong, I took it out on you. Please forgive me. I'll accept whatever detention you give me and do it twice over to make up for everything." 

The corners of McGonagall's mouth jerked to and fro as though she was hit with a poorly-aimed Twitchy-Ears hex. "All right, Miss Granger, you don't have to be so melodramatic. Apology accepted. No detention for today, but I may call you to my office anytime I see fit." 

"Now then," Ron continued. "For what you said to the Headmaster, complete and utter humiliation seems to be in order. You may start now." 

Hermione turned to face Dumbledore, but rested her cheek on Ron's arm. "H-headmaster, I--" 

Dumbledore cut her off. "Apology accepted, Miss Granger." Ron noticed the Headmaster's eyes twinkling madly. He must really be a very powerful wizard if he could hold in his laughter like that. 

"Thank you, Professor," Ron answered for her. He tried to make his voice as serious as he possibly can. "Now then, how about--" 

"I told you I don't want to apologize to him. He deserved it, and I'm not taking it back, so there." Ron snorted. 'Aww, isn't she cute? Next she's going to stamp her foot and stick out her tongue.' 'This is NOT the time to adore her, you idiot! You have to apologize to the medi-bloke for her!' 'Oh, yeah, right.' 

He turned to the medi-wizard. "Sorry, old boy, you heard what the lady said. Since she will not apologize personally, I will do it for her. Along with my apology, please accept my thanks for your assistance." The poor bloke tried to salvage his dignity, but Ron knew it was a lost cause. He would forever be remembered at Hogwarts as a scared little bunny. 

Suddenly, Hermione broke free from his embrace and started screeching at him. He thought he was being a gentleman by apologizing for her. Apparently, he was wrong, judging by the way sparks flew from her eyes. 

"What did you do that for? I didn't want to apologize, and I didn't need you to apologize for me! If you ever do that again I swear I'll--" 

"C'mon, 'Mione, I had to do it to get rid of him. I didn't think he'd leave unless you apologized, and I wanted him to leave so I could be with you." 'Do you really expect her to believe that?' 'Why not?' 'Because that's Hermione you're talking to.' 'Shut up, can't you hear her saying...' 

"Do you really expect me to believe that?!" 'I told you so.' 'I said, shut up!' 

"Yes, I do. Now stop screeching and drawing everyone's attention to us! I can't kiss you with the whole bloody school watching!" 

"Stop bellowing and ordering me around! The only reason people are looking at us is to see if I'll do what you tell me to." 

"And you won't?" 

"Why should I?" 

"I'm your Head Boy!" 

"Well, _I'm_ your bloody Head Girl!!" 

"Tut, tut, language, Miss Head Girl!" 

"Shut up!" 

"No, you shut up!" 

The Hermione he knew and loved was back. And gods, did he love her! Her flashing eyes, flying hair and flailing arms were heaven on earth to him. No one else mattered except her. Which was unfortunate, since they were standing in the middle of the Quidditch field barking at each other in front of the entire student body and the staff. 

"Mister Weasley, Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke softly behind them. They jumped and turned around awkwardly. Uh-oh. That's it. They'd pushed Dumbledore too far, and now he was going to expel them. He could just see the headline in the _Daily Prophet_: Head Boy and Girl of Hogwarts Thrown Out on Their Arses by Headmaster for Acting Like Colicky Toddlers in Front of the Whole School. Okay, maybe that title would be too long to fit into the front page, but that was the general idea anyway. He held his breath and waited for the axe to fall. 

"I believe we have the Quidditch Cup to award to Gryffindor House," Dumbledore beamed at them. "And unless I'm mistaken, Mister Weasley will have the distinction of capturing the Most Valuable Quidditch Player award for the third time in his Hogwarts career." 

The entire field erupted into cheers and applause. Ron turned to her, flashed her his best smile, and kissed her in front of the whole school. And, to his everlasting surprise, she kissed him back! He wanted to do nothing but kiss her all day, well, maybe with just a break or two for meals. He forgot about the Quidditch Cup until Dumbledore reminded him to take it. Right. The Headmaster probably had better things to do than make the Cup float around all day. The crowd caught him up and carried him round and round the field, chanting "Go, go, Gryffindor," and "From east to west, Weasley's the best." 

It felt like a minor eternity to him when he was finally let go and deposited back beside Hermione. They were walking hand in hand inside the castle when he suddenly felt himself losing his balance. At first he thought he might be a little dizzy, but a sound like the distant rumbling of thunder coming from his stomach reminded him that he was hungry. He looked at her as she was trying so hard not to laugh at him, and he realized he was starving to be inside her again. 

"I want to eat all right, and maybe not just food, eh?" 'That's not a joke, that's a promise of things to come.' 

"RON!" He grinned and put his uninjured arm around her. 

Cheers and applause greeted them as they entered the common room. He only stayed to join in a group hug with his teammates and the twins, clap Neville on the back, and receive the congratulations of some of the third years who had been his charges when he first became a Prefect in his fifth year. Then he steered Hermione away from the crowd, and they went upstairs to her room. Once inside, he grabbed a plateful of food, sat down at the foot of her bed and began to eat. As usual, Hermione scolded him for bolting his food down. 

"Don't eat too fast!" 

"'M 'ungry!" 

"You'll choke if you keep on eating like that!" 

And as usual, he accused her of nagging. 

"I do not nag!" 

"Yes, you do." 

"No, I don't!" 

"Yes, you do!" 

Her usual response to that was to lose her temper, and judging by the way she screamed-- 

"RON!" 'Temper exploding?' 'Right on cue.' 

"What?!" 'Wow, good execution of the irritated voice.' 'Thanks, that took years of practice with her, by the way.' 

"Ooh,... Just... just shut up and eat! But don't eat too fast!" 

'WHAT?!' 'I know, can you believe it? This woman simply refuses to be predictable!' He put down his fork. "Honestly, woman, you're going to drive me mad!" He stood up, set aside his plate, reached for a glass of pumpkin juice and gulped it down. 

Suddenly, the hairs at the back of his neck prickled. She was watching him with a strange expression on her face. It was as though he bothered her somehow, not in a bad way, more like... but it couldn't be... she was looking at him like... she wanted to devour him to his very soul, and then... she was going to let him do the same to her. He almost groaned aloud. 'Damn! This woman really IS going to kill me. But then again, what a way to go!' 

"Oh. Is that all I do, then?" She looked into his eyes. He really did try not to whimper like a cold, hungry dog. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and started walking towards her. She didn't even know she had started a fever in his blood. "Do you want me to show you what you do to me?" He looped one arm around her waist and placed his free hand under her jaw, his palm flush with her neck, his little finger poised over her pulse point. They exchanged a look of love and longing so intense that his breath caught in his throat. She whimpered as he stooped to kiss her, making him tremble violently. 

It was so difficult, kissing her as though he had all the time in the world. But he desperately wanted to stay in her arms as long as she would let him, and this was the only way he could think of to distract her long enough. He didn't banish her clothes this time. He let his shaking fingers peel away each layer of her clothing until he came to... The Lace Underwear Set. He nearly had a heart attack. He wanted to go down on his knees and worship her, then tear off the lace things and devour her until next week, consequences be damned. 

He thought he could still control himself, he really did. But then, she started to move her thumbs back and forth across his nipples. NOW he was going to have a heart attack. He reached out for his wand, banished the rest of their clothes, took care of the, er, fertility issue, then forgot about everything else except caressing her whole body with his hands and mouth and tongue. He paid her back for his near heart attack by licking and sucking her nipples until she was whimpering continuously. Then she opened herself up to him, so he latched his mouth onto her centre and laved her and probed her and nipped her until she screamed and he was about ready to explode. He eased himself into her and thrust himself at her again and again, until she convulsed and fireworks went off in his brain. His last memory before falling asleep was gathering her in his arms and watching her smile breathlessly at him. 

He woke up some time later, feeling a little queasy. He glanced down, and was surprised to see a bandage on his shoulder. Hermione must have put it on him while he slept. He would have loved to just pull her closer into his arms and go back to sleep, but now the queasy feeling was coupled with a near-bursting sensation in his bladder. Sighing, he disentangled himself from Hermione, not an easy job when their arms and their legs were twined together like that, and her hair had somehow got partly wrapped around his neck. 

He got out of bed, used the loo and was going to splash some water on his face when he happened to look up, well, not really look up, as he had to crouch down past his waist level over the basin so he wouldn't drip water all over the floor. Er, anyway, from his crouching position, he happened to look up at the little mirror above the basin, and he just couldn't help smiling at his reflection, because what he saw there was unlike any reflection of himself that he had ever seen before. He saw a man, yes, a _man_, who had obtained his deepest desire. He had a look of utter contentment that was so foreign to him, as he had wanted so much his whole life. Now, his own reflection was telling him that he already has everything. 

"Well, well, you are a handsome devil, aren't you? A bit scruffy, but handsome, nevertheless," the mirror squawked appreciatively. 

"So, you think scruffy's not such a bad thing, eh?" 

"Not on you, love. So, are you the man in her life?" 

"Yes, I am." Blimey, that was PRIDE in his voice. 

"Are you the same one she's been crying about for quite a while now?" 

"Oh. Yeah." His face fell. He knew the mirror wasn't accusing him, but he felt like a murderer all the same. 

"Don't look like that, love. Girls cry about the boy they love. It's one of those unwritten laws I've been hearing about for centuries." 

"It's a lousy law, if you ask me." 

"Ah, well, try telling that to your woman. She'll probably hex you good." 

"Knowing Hermione, I'm certain she will." 

"Why don't you run her a bath, love? She always comes out of the bath looking like she's got some new strength in her." 

"Thanks, I think I will. You know, you're not so bad yourself. A bit tarnished around the edges, but not bad at all." 

"My word, that's the first compliment I've ever received! Just for that, I guarantee you all the good luck you and your children and your grandchildren will ever need, even if I break. Mirrors can do that, you know. Only, don't let any other mirror know you know. We like to keep our reputation for bringing seven years' bad luck when someone breaks us." 

"Your secret's safe with me. In fact, to assure you that you can trust me, I'll tell you a secret as well. Hermione is my world." 

"That's not a secret, love. It's already written all over your face. But thanks for telling me." 

He smiled at the mirror and drew a warm bath, then cast a warming charm on the water to make sure she would be comfortable. He sat down at the foot of the bed for a few moments, watching Hermione sleep. She slept so peacefully that he really didn't want to disturb her. He thought about sitting in the tub by himself tonight, and just draw her a bath tomorrow. But just then, her eyes opened. 

"Hey. You're up. Anything wrong? Do you feel any pain?" Her voice was still foggy with sleep. He thought it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. 

"No, everything's fine. Smashing, in fact. Thanks for the bandage, by the way." 

"No problem." She closed her eyes again. 

"Hey, don't go back to sleep, come on, get up. We're going for a bath." 

"What? You want me to get up in the middle of the night for a bath?" 

"Why not? We're all sweaty and sticky, aren't we?" 

"_You're_ all sweaty. _I'm_ fine, thanks." 

"Oh, so you mean, if we had classes tomorrow, you could get up and go to them just the way you are now?" 

"Hmmph." 

"I didn't think so. Now, c'mon, before the water gets cold." 

"All right, all right." 

She started to get up, but he locked her into a fireman's hold and whisked her to the bathroom. He climbed into the tub, seated her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. Their naked bodies, slippery with the soapy water, slid against each other in perfect imitation of their coupling, leaving him breathless. He tried to distract himself by summoning her shampoo and lathering her hair. He hissed in pain as he suddenly pulled his shoulder, making her turn around and start washing away the sand in his hair. He kissed her cheek and dabbed a bit of lather on her nose. 

He wanted to kiss her as she giggled at him, but then she started babbling about being curious if he had -- what? Slept with another woman before? Because where else would he learn about -- what pleases a woman? Oh, please! He wanted to tell her that even if he didn't want to learn about _that_, he could hardly avoid hearing a thing or two from two extremely horny and good-looking elder brothers, one extremely prissy but also extremely horny middle brother, and... Fred and George, who were the epitome of horniness, even if he had been guarded closely by half-a-dozen mums and Winkys. But, he supposed, as that information would probably shock her, he decided he would instead admit to having a copy of The Book, courtesy of the twins. But first, he had to have a little fun with her for being so naughty as to be curious about something like that. 

"All right, I'll tell you. I learnt everything I needed to know from..." He paused. He nearly laughed as he saw her face turn green. 

"Actual experience?! Who -- who --" 'Amazing... I've never seen anyone change color that fast.' 'Well, except for you...' 'Shut up! Are her lips actually turning black?' 'She's probably holding her breath. That can't be good for her brain.' 'Maybe I should stop torturing her like that now.' 'Aww, let her sweat a little. After all, fair is fair. She _did_ let you think she saw Krum naked.' 'WILL YOU BE QUIET?!' 'All right, all right... @#%!' 'I HEARD THAT!' 

He put on his best evil grin. "No, Miss Know-it-All, stop interrupting. I actually learnt it from a book." He smirked as he saw her reaction. 

"What book?!" 'Look at her! I bet she doesn't think I can learn anything like that from a book.' 'She doesn't think you can learn anything, period.' 'Shut it, you. She wants to know what book.' 

"A little wizarding how-to book called _The Beginner's Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..._" 

"_How to Make Them Moan and Groan All Night Long_?!" 

"You've read that book?!" 'She knows about The Book?! She'd read a book Fred and George swear by?!' 

She blushed. "I checked it out of the library since, er, just before Christmas break." If he hadn't been sitting in the tub, he would have fallen on his arse. _She_ had taken The Book out of the library (blimey!) nearly five months ago (unbelievable!), and has had it in her possession ever since (what did she do, memorize it?!). 

He really did try not to laugh as he realized they had both learnt about, well, how to go about, er, certain things, from the same book. From The Book, no less. She started splashing the water around with her fingers and wouldn't look at him. She was hiding something. 

"Hmm, I have a feeling there's something else you want to tell me." 

"Well, there's a -- a second volume to that book. It's called _The Advanced Guide to Sexual Intercourse, or..._" 

"_How to Make Them Scream and Writhe With Pleasure and Beg You to Hurt Them All Night Long_? Yeah, I've seen it around." 

"Where? Here?" 'Are her eyes bugging out?' 'Who cares about her eyes? She knows about The Sacred Second Volume!' 

"Hang on, you mean you've got that book from Pince, too?" 

"Well,... yeah. It never hurts to -- do a bit more research, you know." He nearly popped his shoulder again. It wasn't that he was surprised she had er, researched the matter, ahem, thoroughly. What shocked him was the fact that she used books that weren't strictly, er, academic, but were also highly, well, _arousing_. 

When she asked him if they could still get eclairs from the kitchens, he felt as if the next five Christmases had come all at once. He grabbed a towel, not bothering with clothes as he skidded at his top speed towards the kitchens. He must have surprised the elves still working there by bursting in wearing only a pink, fluffy towel with the initials HG embroidered on it, and begging for some eclairs. The elves (bless their uncurious souls) immediately handed him a huge platter loaded with eclairs. Uh-oh. How was he going to get back all the way up to Gryffindor tower and into Hermione's room in this state? The little mirror must have really given him some good luck tonight by allowing him to get as far as the kitchens, without being caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris or Peeves. But now, how will he manage it while holding up a towel that doesn't quite hide his, er, secrets, balancing a mountain of eclairs, and moving as fast as possible, all at the same time? 

His instinct for strategy suddenly kicked in when he saw Dobby hurrying to welcome him. He assumed his best innocently-worried-and-concerned-about-another's-welfare-but-secretly-trying-to-keep-his-own-arse-out-of-trouble look. Then he wailed to Dobby that he went to the kitchens at that hour of the night because Miss Hermione Granger was dying for some eclairs, and that he was worried about how to get back without keeping Miss Hermione Granger waiting, because Miss Hermione Granger absolutely had to have the eclairs RIGHT NOW. He blinked, and suddenly he found himself in Hermione's room again. He made a mental note to pick up several pairs of screaming socks and a tea cozy or two for Dobby during the next Hogsmeade weekend. 

He was only telling the truth when he told her he would never be able to look at eclairs the same way again after tonight. He broke several eclairs in half, smeared the creamy filling all over her body, and licked it off. Then he did it over and over and over, until half the eclairs were gone and the walls of her room were ringing with her screams. 'My work here tonight is finished.' 

Alas, it was not to be. He forgot about the time-honored principle, Turnabout is Fair Play. So he had to live through the delicious agony of _her_ breaking several eclairs in half and smearing the creamy filling all over _his_ body and licking it off and doing it again and again until _all_ the eclairs were gone and _he_ was hoarse from moaning and growling. Right. If he died tonight, he would die a happy, happy, _happy_ man. The twins would probably erect a monument in memory of his, er, exploits. His thoughts went back to the maroon tombstone that the twins would unveil at his funeral, and the epitaph he envisioned would be engraved on it now read: 

_RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY_

_Here lies a man from Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Who was known far and wide for being an arsehole_

_He was great at Quidditch, you bet_

_And his woman loved him to death_

_Which made him the envy of all in Ottery St. Catchpole_

But then again, if he _did_ die after a night like this with Hermione, he wouldn't give a nundu's arse about what anybody wrote on his stupid tombstone. 

It was dawn before they fell asleep again, more sweaty and sticky than before they took a bath together. Luckily, it was Sunday. 


	9. Epilogue Overheard

**EPILOGUE - OVERHEARD**   


The mirror in Hermione's bedroom was fuming. For the past two weeks, Hermione had been draping her school robes over it so it wouldn't see what she and the yummy Weasley boy were doing. But it could still hear them, that is, whenever it decided to listen in. And it decided to listen in every night. Like tonight. 

After the usual preliminaries consisting of "Oh my God, Ron," "I need you inside me, Ron," "Faster, Ron, harder," "Oh God, Hermione," "Stop, stop, 'Mione, I need to be inside you," along with the usual endearments, mainly "Scarlet woman" and "Keeper boy," plus a fair amount of moaning, growling, whimpering and gasping thrown in for good measure, there was a long silence broken only by heavy breathing. And then: 

"Can I move in here with you?" 

"No, you _may NOT_." 

"Aw, c'mon love, I've been asking you for the past two weeks now!" 

"I said no, and I mean no." 

"Can't I just bring along a few boxers, or maybe a towel?" 

"Well,... all right, you can bring a towel, so you won't have to keep using mine. Oh, and a toothbrush, too. I don't care how many times you do a cleaning charm on my toothbrush, we still have to observe proper dental hygiene. But that's IT." 

"'Mioneee..." 

"NO. You have your own room. And we have to follow the rules. We _are_ the Head Boy and Girl, after all." 

The yummy Weasley boy responded with a loud groan, which was followed by-- 

"Don't you dare give me that sad puppy-dog look! What if we get caught?" 

"But, love, _everyone_ already knows. Even, er, Peeves and Mrs. Norris." 

"I'm talking about the _Professors_. What would Dumbledore say if he knew?" 

"I seriously doubt that he doesn't know about, well, _this_. And knowing him, maybe he'll say something along the lines of, 'It's about time.'" 

"Oh, sure, and maybe McGonagall will do the hustle at the Leaving feast." 

"Do the what?" 

"Never mind." 

"Right, then... why don't _you_ move in with me instead?" 

"Absolutely not! It's just as inappropriate as you moving in here! Besides, what would your parents say if they find out?" 

"I don't think you need to worry too much about my mum and dad. My mum already thinks the world of you, anyway. She'll probably knit you jumpers till you're ninety. You and your crazy ideas, getting Winky to live at the Burrow. My mum will never be the same again. As for my dad, well, just give him a few plugs or a Muggle appliance at Christmas and he'll love you forever. So that just leaves... Bloody hell, Hermione, YOUR mum and dad will KILL me!" 

"No, they won't. They already love you. I told them about how you saved me from a troll in first year, and how you belched up slugs for me because Malfoy called me a Mudblood and how you went and followed the spiders to the Forbidden Forest for me while I was petrified in second year, and how--." 

"Oh, so _now_ you're saying it'll be okay with _your_ parents if we moved in together?" 

"No, no, no! I did NOT say that!" 

"Yes, you did!" 

"No, I didn't!" 

"Did too!" 

"Did not!" 

"You said they love me! So they won't mind even if we lived together in a broom closet." 

"That is NOT what I meant and you know it! Will you stop putting words in my mouth?!" 

"Ha, ha, as if anyone could ever do that!" 

"RON!" 

"All right, all right, don't get your knickers in a twist. Oh, wait, you're not wearing any knickers. In fact, you're not wearing _anything_ right now, are you?" 

"The next words out of my mouth will be a very powerful hex." 

"Did you know you look _so_ cute when you're boiling mad?" 

"Did you know you're evil?" 

"Only after we make love. You just bring out the devil in me, you do." 

There was a short silence followed by the sound of Hermione giggling like a ticklish six-year old. 

"Ah, the sweet sound of laughter from the woman I love! My work here is nearly done. There's just one more thing for me to do now." 

"What's that? Wait, where are you going? What are you looking for over there? What's that you're hiding... Ohhh!" 

"D'you... d'you like it?" 

"Oh, RON, it's so... _Beautiful. Amazing. Perfect."_

"Really? I just -- I made it myself. Couldn't find anything in Hogsmeade good enough for you. Percy, Fred and George didn't have any luck in Diagon Alley, either. So I asked Bill and Charlie to look for a likely-looking ring in Egypt and Romania and send me some photographs, but I didn't care for the ones they showed me. By the way, you were describing yourself back there." 

"Oh, RON..." 

"Just so you'd know, I'm already bound to you. All you have to do is smile at me and I'm as good as dead to any other woman. Bit annoying, really. So it's only fair for me to think of ways to bind you to me, too. After all, fair is fair." 

"A-are you asking me to--" 

"Who said anything about asking? _You_ didn't ask me anything before you went and bound me to you." 

"Ron--" 

"You're so sneaky, you know, looking at me like that with those eyes and doing that thing where your tears are just gathered up there but aren't falling down, and that trembling bottom lip thing should just be declared_ illegal_..." 

"Ron--" 

"And besides, how should I ask you? What do you want me to ask you? For all I know, the question I had in mind is nothing like the question _you_ have in mind..." 

_"Ron--"_

"Furthermore, there are sooo many things to consider about this sort of thing. It takes planning and timing and stuff like that, and you know me, always too hot-headed and too mmffhmmph--" 

Neither of them spoke for some time, but the soft kissing noises, along with an occasional whimper, made it clear just what they were doing. Then: 

"I guess that'll teach you to shut up." 

"Well,... I don't think I've learnt my lesson yet. Could you, maybe, teach me some more? A little longer this time, and just a bit more tongue--" 

"RONALD ARTHUR WEASLEY! SHUT UP!" 

"Er,... right. Did you want to say something?" 

"WILL YOU-- I mean,... will you marry me?" 

"I thought you'd never ask." 

"WHAT?! You mean you-- you-- _provoked _me into asking you to marry me?!" 

"Well,... It -- it seemed like a good idea at the time. P-please don't kill me." 

"Oh, you can open your eyes, you big baby. I'm not going to curse you." 

"Oh, good. So, are you going to _punish_ me for provoking you?" 

"RON!" 

"By the way, the answer is yes." 

"Oh. Well, since you tricked me into asking you, I'm thinking maybe I didn't really mean to ask you--" 

"HERMIONE!" 

"All right, all right. Question asked and answered. Can we sleep now?" 

"Well,... you have me so worked up I don't think I can sleep at all tonight. How about we go for a nice, long, honest-to-goodness shag instead?" 

"I thought you'd never ask." 

If mirrors could smile, the one in Hermione's room would've cracked one so wide that its wooden frame would be splintered.   


-- THE END --   
  
  


**A/N:**

1. Whew! That's done. If you liked my baby, drop me a "great job" review and I'll do a Snoopy dance. If you didn't like it, drop me a "this stinks" review and I'll laugh at you for having such bad taste (ha ha, just kidding). 

2. Special thanks to my beta reader, the amazing sunshyndaisies! I am ready to crown you "Queen of the Universe" anytime you want. 

3. I absolutely _enjoyed_ writing from Ron's POV. Hermione, on the other hand, was a challenge; most of the time I was pulled in twenty different directions while writing her. It was tough trying to find a balance. She's a serious person, but I don't want her to be seen as a boring stiff. However, making her too funny would be so obviously OOC. 

4. Yes, I confess, Ron's epitaph in Chapter 8 is a pathetic attempt at a limerick. Please don't kill me. 

5. The medi-wizard Hermione called a quack is named Duckworth. Get it? Oh, never mind. 

6. I call this the "For those of you" section, dedicated with love and gratitude to the kind and considerate souls who reviewed my, er, first-born. Right, here goes: 

a. For those of you who asked about Ron's (actually the trio's) advanced DADA training, it consisted mainly (to my mind) of defensive moves such as blocking curses, resisting _Crucio_ and _Imperio_, and repelling dark creatures/wizards. If inspiration strikes (and you all know how FICKLE she could be), I might elaborate on that in a future fic. 

b. For those of you who probably tore their hair out and wanted to flame me (but were too nice to do so) because of my cliffhangers in Chapters 3 and 6, I hope that the succeeding chapters redeemed me in your eyes. 

c. For those of you who enjoyed my attempt at a blow-by-blow of a Quidditch game, thanks! 

d. For those of you who answered my A/N question at the top of Chapter 6, double thanks! 

7. Did I forget to mention anything? Oh, yeah... REVIEW, DAMN IT! 


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